We Were Here
by lola-pops
Summary: Upon waking, there's a brief, blissful period in which you don't yet recall the sins of the night before, but eventually, you have to open your eyes.  I'm Bella Swan, seventeen years old, cheerleader.  This morning I woke up in the wrong bed.
1. Sleepwalk

**Hello, friends! **

**Thank you to LouderthanSirens for being super, and to ShearEnvy, who has proven to be both an amazing beta, but also an amazing friend. Thank you to my sweet lady love stephk0525, for her support and hugs, and for sharing a deep love of spanky pants with me. :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

Upon waking, there's a brief, blissful period in which you don't yet recall the sins of the night before.

But eventually, you have to open your eyes.

* * *

It pounds through my head in flashes.

Skin. A moan. His lips.

I know by the t-shirt hanging from the desk chair whose room this is. Whose bed this is.

_Oh, fuck_.

The images start to slow and linger in my vision, which is so much worse, because I have a chance to process the alternating waves of arousal, confusion and guilt. Mostly guilt.

"Oh, fuck." I whisper it out loud this time.

He shifts behind me, sitting up. Rolling cautiously onto my back, I peek up at him. He rubs his eyes, elbows resting on his knees, the sheet barely covering parts of him that I've now seen...touched...kissed. I want to reach over and run my hands down his taut stomach, over the muscles in his arms.

It doesn't escape my notice that he doesn't smile when he looks down at me.

I sit up, leaning back against the exposed brick next to him and clutching the sheet to my chest. We don't speak. Early morning light begins to hit the building tops outside of his window.

I try to orient myself in the present, like I've just been momentarily waylaid from my set path. _I have to cheer at a game tonight__, __my uniform is at home and I have a Chemistry test third period_.

_And I fucked Edward Cullen_.

Then, even though I'm thinking of that thing he did with his tongue, I'm also thinking of holding his face in my hands as I look into his eyes, inches apart while I move on top of him, his breath hitting my lips. Barely touching. The kisses...fuck. I need to stop.

Sliding to the edge of the bed I find my t-shirt and jeans, put them on and stuff my bra and underwear into my bag. He doesn't move, and when I turn back he's looking out the window.

"Look, I..." I fade off.

He meets my eyes. I study his face, the shadow on his jaw that scratched along my throat, down my stomach, my inner thighs. The dog tags that hang backwards on a silver chain down his back belonged to his father. He told me that as he kissed his way up my body, the cold metal sliding across my skin. They were some of the few words spoken between us.

"You gonna tell him?" he asks, his voice low and full of sleep.

"I don't know," I admit.

His gaze goes back to the window.

I take in his form on the bed, the sheets beneath him tangled from use and his hair tangled from my fingers. His room is covered in records, paint and sketchbooks. He smells like soap and wood chips...spice. I think of how he liked when I wrapped my legs around him and kissed hard on his neck.

I can't have this, though. "I have to go." He doesn't respond.

Turning, I walk out of his bedroom door and through the loft as the sun was rising into the sky, shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I cry the whole way home, but finally pull myself together by the time I'm out of the shower.

I'm sore, in a way that I usually like to be, but I can't decide if I like it now. I can still hear the things he whispered to me and feel his thighs against mine.

I want to throw up.

I want to do it again.

I'm so fucked. Literally. Figuratively. But I get ready for school like it's any other day, and as always, my cheerleading uniform feels constricting, but looks perfect. It's a metaphor for my entire existence.

Picking up my bag, I search my face in the mirror one last time for a trace of what I've done.

All I see is the same sad girl. I don't think anyone will notice.

* * *

Jasper wasn't always an asshole. We've been together since seventh grade, when he gave me a rose in front of everyone, even though his friends laughed at him. He used to write me sweet, terrible songs and play them for me over the phone. He whispered "I love you" the first time we had sex; the first time for both of us.

I suppose that side of him is still in there somewhere, buried beneath thick layers of bravado and testosterone.

He's sitting back in his chair, his arm tossed over the back of mine possessively, letter jacket thrown open. He sits with his legs splayed, like a sexual invitation. His whole being is charged, confrontational…blatant.

He tells the lunch table a joke that I try to tune out, punctuating the punch line by thrusting his hips. The group, mostly jocks, roars with laughter, high-fiving each other.

I've grown to hate all of this, but every morning I wake up and choose to do it again.

_Choose._

This is why things are sticky. No one is forcing me to be here. It's my fault. The guilt doubles...triples.

I watch him while he talks, mentally muting the scene. I used to listen, but then I think he used to say things that were worth listening to. I have a very faint recollection of depth, but at this point I'm not entirely sure what actually existed and what I've fabricated to justify my choices.

I can't blame Jasper, though. Not really. He's never really had to work at any of this. He's a natural athlete and leader, handsome and charismatic. His blond hair is shorter than I like, but it's still got its signature disheveled curl. The blue of his eyes disarms me even now, after all this time.

But I miss the skinny kid in Nirvana t-shirts who used to make me laugh.

He meets my eyes and frowns. I've been unhappy lately, but today I'm dazed, sedated. I can't concentrate. My happy expression is forced, but he takes it at face value and gives me his slow smile, looking down at my bare legs.

"I'm so glad your parents are out of town, baby," he says, smiling. Not too long ago, I could have returned his smile with a genuine one.

I keep my eyes trained downward as he presses his lips to my neck and wonder if he can sense the betrayal...taste it. I shiver.

And that's our interaction. Like every other lunch. Like every other day. I am an accessory. I am a pocket pussy. I'm one of those life-sized dolls made of silent, willing silicone. I am a cliché in the worst way.

My phone vibrates on the table, and he drops his arm from around my shoulders, annoyed, but gestures like I'm allowed to check it. I wish I could remember when he started doing shit like that...or maybe I just wish that I hadn't started noticing it.

I wish I could go back to just being happy.

"It's Rose." I stand, and don't bother elaborating. Jasper's hand slides up the back of my thigh, coming to rest on my spanky pants. I bend over to give him a peck on the lips. I'm strangely numb to the physical contact...to everything. "Bye, boys."

"Bye, Bella," they chant after me.

She's leaning on the locker next to mine when I get there, digging around in the large bag that is ever-present across her shoulders.

"Where were you? You know I can't hang out in the caf. It smells like fucking cat food." She shudders.

I open my locker and just stand there, staring at a picture of Jasper and I at junior prom that's hanging inside.

"Dude. What's up? You look weird." She squints at me like she might be able to read it on my face. Her pupils are dilated, which isn't unusual. I have no idea what she's on today, though.

"Nothing." I can't talk about it yet. Edward is one of her good friends. Plus, if I start talking, this will have actually happened, and I'll have to deal with it.

She watches me for a second, probably knowing it's bullshit, but decides not to push it.

"Party tonight?"

My parents are out of town and Jasper volunteered my house for the after-game festivities. There are currently three kegs on ice in my backyard. I exhale heavily and nod, leaning back against my locker. "You're gonna have to dose me so I can get through it. I'm so over all this shit." It's our senior year, but I feel like I'll never get out of here. It's only October.

"Wow. You're more morose than usual today," she says, fucking with her hair in the reflection of a classroom window.

She's right. I'm not sure where this whole jaded housewife mentality came from, but I've been firmly entrenched in the ennui for months, sleepwalking through everything. Some part of me understands that what happened last night was supposed to jerk me out of this, yet here I am, and on the outside everything is exactly ...painfully... _the same_.

I'm just secretly a cheater.

Rose turns and appraises me, before pulling something out of her pocket. "Bella…" she sings. She's got a little blue pill between her fingers. "It'll make you not care…"

I narrow my eyes at her, but open my mouth so she can place it on my tongue. Usually I would protest harder because we're at school, but not today. "Thanks, Rose."

She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You sure you're okay?" she asks. I nod, but can't conjure up a convincing smile.

Just like she promised, the pill makes me not care, and I'm able to get through the day and cheer at the game with the appropriate level of enthusiasm. However, by the time people start showing up at my house that night I'm back to feeling the full burden of my guilt.

Emmett mans the bar by the pool, and mixes me something sweet and very alcoholic. It's gross, but he promises it will fuck me up, and that's pretty much the only criteria.

People file in, weaving around each other to find their friends, forming groups at tables, in the pool, in the hot tub. We won the game, so the mood is celebratory. Guys clap Jasper on the back and girls gush out praise, blushing. I make idle small talk with everyone as they get shots and refill their red, plastic cups from the keg.

By the time Rose struts up it's almost midnight. Her outfit is minimal, her bag bouncing against her hip. She leans over the bar to look at the selection of booze while Emmett stands behind the bar with his arms crossed, watching her, waiting.

One night last year she got "beyond fucked up" and ended up in bed with Emmett. I was the unfortunate recipient of some of the more graphic details of that night, and I know for a fact that she wasn't as bombed as she pretends she was. I never bring that up, though, just like she doesn't point out the lies I tell myself. It's just what we do.

I can tell Emmett really likes her, but he hasn't made a move, and she wouldn't be caught dead pursuing a jock. For every person that adheres to the social hierarchy in our high school, there is one that openly mocks it. Rose is one of the latter. In fact, if we hadn't been close before I donned the school colors, I doubt we would be friends.

"Mix me something without Malibu, Bacardi Limon or Schnapps," she demands, glancing at him once, before turning to change the music and mumbling something about "jock rock bullshit".

He mixes her a drink with a small smile on his face and when he catches me staring he shrugs, but his smile doesn't fall.

I survey the debauchery, watching the cups accumulate on surfaces around the party, some forgotten, many half-full, lipstick on the rims. Couples disappear into the pool house and around the sides of the house, some obviously and some covertly, sneaking furtive glances as they slip away.

My one condition for having this party was that the house stay locked tonight. Only Rose, Jasper and I know the code. The pool house has a bathroom and a kitchen,,,, and I don't want to spend the night kicking people out of my parent's bedroom. Again.

My eyes move across the crowd, idly noting who's hooking up with who, and who looks like they might already be drunk enough to puke. I freeze when I see Edward sitting at a table on the other side of the pool.

I glance sharply at Jasper, but he's talking to a group of sycophantic juniors and other than the fact that his left hand is stroking my bare thigh, he doesn't seem to notice I'm there. Rose is sitting at the same table as Edward, but I can't catch her eye. I'm not surprised to see them together, but usually he wouldn't come to one of our parties even if she did. This tiny, sick part of me hopes he's here because of me.

I try not to, but I find myself looking at him periodically over the next hour. His jeans are worn in-the real kind of worn in. He's wearing a t-shirt with a logo on it that I don't recognize under a black hoodie, the hood pulled up.

He's always been...cool, I guess. Even in junior high when other kids were transitioning through awkward phases, he remained above the fray. He's attractive in a way that makes girls unconsciously lick their lips, but he doesn't seem to care much about dating, or maybe he just doesn't care about the girls at our school.

That's not to say there aren't rumors. The things that are said about his sexual prowess solidify him as legend, but most of the time you don't hear those things from people who've actually done them.

It's all true, though. I _know it is._ I flush and cross my legs, my heart beating hard.

He's sexually charged, but in a different way than Jasper. Subtle, lazy, with confidence layered underneath it all. He doesn't talk much.

And Jasper _hates_ him.

Edward and I have hardly spoken in the last few years because of that fact. We were all friends in junior high, and he and Rose stayed close. The fact that she's my best friend hasn't seemed to endear me to him, with the exception of last night, and even then it wasn't initially tender. He certainly didn't seduce me with romance.

He didn't seduce me at all, actually.

"_Fuck you."_

_I take a few steps forward until we're inches apart. He looks from my eyes to my lips._

It was me that angrily fisted his t-shirt, closing that space between us. It was my move...

It's _my _fault.

I take another shot, my eyes still on him. I don't think he's looked over here once and I try to ignore the feeling that I'm being rejected, but it's there, stinging in my chest.

Someone hands him a flask and he takes a swig. A girl in a slutty top, obviously desperate for his attention, grabs it to do the same, but whatever is in it makes her sputter and cough. He laughs, not cruelly but because it was unintentionally funny, and she crosses her arms and sits back in her chair. He says something to her that makes her look a little less angry, and a lot more hopeful.

Maybe he can sense my eyes on him, because he finally turns to look at me, already glaring. I'm taken aback, and attempt a smile, but he doesn't return it, instead turning back to the girl next to him.

It's then that I realize Emmett's watching the exchange, another shot in his hand. I take it from him and down it, giving him the same shrug he gave me earlier. He smiles uncomfortably, glancing at Jasper.

I pretend I'm going to the bathroom, but instead I get a glass of water and stand in the empty kitchen. With the windows closed, I can almost pretend that this party isn't going on at my house.

The back door opens, the party loud and then quiet again as the door closes.

I hear Rose chattering to someone before I see her. "Feeling antisocial?" she asks, walking past me to get one of my dad's good beers out of the fridge. She expertly pops the top off with a lighter, leaving it where it lands on the floor. Edward walks in behind her and stops short when he sees me, his eyes flicking to Rose before settling on the floor. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans in the doorway.

Rose tips the beer back, looking back and forth between us as she swallows. "Gotta pee. You two play nice."

She quirks an eyebrow at me that he can't see as she walks out. That eyebrow says "we'll be discussing this later."

_Fantastic._

I expect awkward silence, but he speaks. "How can you stand it?" It takes me a second to register what the words mean.

I follow his eyes. He's staring out the window at the party that's in full swing. People yell to each other over the music, dancing badly, spilling drinks. In the muted quiet of the kitchen it seems worse, looks more pathetic.

I study Edward's profile for a moment. He's undeniably handsome, maybe even more so than Jasper. Nothing about him is wholesome, or all-American. He's got the build for football, but he's never had the pack mentality. He's just..._different_.

I think about what his eyes look like from two inches away. What his skin tastes like. How his mouth stays open just a little. How I made him moan.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but instead turns to leave.

"Wait." He faces me slowly, but looks down. I put down the glass of water and stand in front of him, not close enough to touch if we both reached out. "Last night aside..." I pause-his face remains impassive. "Why do you hate me?"

I'm not ready for the intensity of the look between us when he meets my eyes. Mine tear lightly and I clench my teeth. "Because it's all fake," he says. I don't need to ask what he means. He means me.

The hurt must be plain on my face. "Then why are you here?"

He doesn't answer right away, and we stare at each other for longer than is appropriate. "Open bar," he says, but I know they aren't the words he means.

I can't decipher the look on his face when he walks away.

There's another drink waiting for me when I get back, and then another. Rose slips something oval into my palm and I swallow it without thinking twice. I don't look over at the corner that Edward's sitting in even once after that. I smile and talk to people around me, but my laugh is hollow and forced.

By the time Jasper pulls me into the house I'm floating and high.

He kisses me, and for a second I feel safe and warm and I'm almost happy to be here with him. But then he starts talking.

"You look so fucking hot." He turns me around and yanks my skirt up and my panties down. He pushes me forward and bends me over the arm of the couch.

My mind flashes to my parents, to disappointment and malaise that is never really solved by trips to the jeweler and tropical vacations...to the ache that I can't ignore.

I hear his belt, the slip of fabric on skin.

_How can you stand it?_

"Stop."

"What?"

I turn, sitting to face him.

"I can't."

"What?" he asks again. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"No."

"Do you have your...period?" he asks, tripping on the word.

"No."

The truth is on the tip of my tongue, but I don't say it. I don't trust his anger right now, or the alcohol, or myself.

He stares at me expectantly and then sighs, frustrated. "All you do is walk around like a fuckin' zombie," he says, pulling up his jeans roughly. He meets my eyes, and I can see that I wounded his pride. He's hurt. For a second he's fourteen, and I'm thirteen and he's all there is.

But we're not...and he isn't.

My head hurts, and I wipe my tears away with the backs of my hands, like a little kid.

"Fuck" he says, rubbing his eyes, taking a breath. He steps forward and carefully takes my face in his hands as I eye the ceiling. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean it. What's wrong?"

He pauses, and then steps forward to pull me to his chest. His arms encircle me, and I remember why I simultaneously love and hate his protection, his possession of me. Mostly, I hate it.

And then I know that it doesn't matter that it's the wrong time, or that I'm afraid. I have to tell him.

"I slept with someone else."

* * *

**I'm planning to post Fridays, and if I can get it together I'll post teasers...somewhere. Hee.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**xoxo**


	2. Strip

**Merry Christmas to those of you who do that, and to the rest of you, happy Thursday! Updating a day early because I am seriously behind on my shopping and I have a very demanding family. Also, I have no patience. Hee.**

**Thank you to ShearEnvy for her superior beta skills and general awesomeness, and to stephk0525 for prereading and being a really fantastic friend. Also, many thanks to shickle1970...she knows why. :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

After the party, I stay in bed all weekend - Rose can't even get me to come out - but I still drag myself to school Monday.

I immediately wish I hadn't.

I remember that night, although it didn't seem all that significant at the time. We watched a movie in his room and I didn't stop him when he took out the camera. I liked it. I wanted it.

I'm stunned-stuck staring at the picture that hangs on my locker. Full color, 8 ½ by 11. It was done on a shitty printer, but it's clear enough.

People walk by, whispering and laughing.

I find myself irrationally angry at Rose. She's late and I need her here right now. She would say "nice tits", pull the picture down and we would ditch the rest of the day. But here alone, I'm frozen.

The collective gasp that sounds down the hallway alerts me to Jasper's presence. He's sauntering, the guys in a group behind him, like he's going to just walk by...like he's doing a victory lap.

_Motherfucker_.

Emmett elbows him as I walk up, his expression grim, but Jasper already sees me.

I channel everything I'm feeling into the swing of my arm as I slap his face. My hand aches, but it's not enough. I push his chest hard and I'm about to hit him again when Emmett's heavy arms close around me and my feet leave the ground.

"Take that shit down," Rose's voice commands to someone that I can't see and I'm moving backwards quickly, away from the fray. Jasper and I lock eyes, and the remorse I find there, just for a second, makes me burst into tears.

* * *

I stay out of school for two days. Rose stays with me since my parents are still out of town. They threaten to take legal action against Jasper, or the school, or someone, but in the end they're all just idle threats. They don't cut their vacation short or anything. Luckily, I have Rose and her mobile pharmacy to get me through it.

It's hell. All of it. I want to move anywhere else on the planet. I want to start over. I want to erase everything and draw myself as someone else.

The photo doesn't make a reappearance on my locker, but it might as well still be hanging there. I can tell that the rest of my senior year is going to be tainted with that image, like it's permanently superimposed over my skin; my eyes squeezed shut and my mouth forever open in a moan.

I feel raw under the pity, distaste and lust that I find in the faces of my classmates, but I show up, hold my head up and keep my tears to myself.

Jasper tells everyone that I cheated on him. It turns out that he emailed the picture to half of the senior class the Sunday before someone hung it on my locker. I delete both my Facebook and Twitter and I quit cheerleading.

Not everyone jumps on the bandwagon, though. I still have friends left. It's just really different, and the change infiltrates everything I do, constantly reminding me of what I've lost.

It only takes Jasper a few weeks to start dating Alice Brandon, which honestly doesn't surprise me. She's head cheerleader, a royal bitch and she hasn't been particularly discreet about her feelings for him over the years. She slips seamlessly into my spot under his arm, but I feel him staring at me sometimes. He sends me a text once at three in the morning, but I delete it after reading the first and only line that it contains. "I miss you." I don't admit, even to Rose, that I feel the same way.

It seems like we missed a step in our breakup. We didn't have a conversation about our relationship. There wasn't a period where I thought we were going to work things out. We went from everything to nothing in the time that it took me to speak five words, and as far as I can tell, they will be our last.

I avoid Edward, not that it matters. He doesn't let on that he even knows who I am.

But I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I think about him.

* * *

"I was at our coffee shop." She and I like to go there because almost no one from our school does.

Rose nods and lights the joint she rolled, listening intently, leaning toward me. We're sitting cross-legged on my bed, facing each other. She hasn't bugged me about the details of my night with Edward, especially after the picture fiasco, but I kind of want to tell someone..._just once_. Like that makes it real or something.

I could have conceivably made the whole thing up if I went by how thoroughly he ignores me.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Pass._

"I was parked in front of the record store, and there was a group of guys standing out front when I got done. I saw Edward with them and said 'hi', but he just did that thing where he nods, you know?" She snorts, smirking. "So, of _course _when I walked by, I tripped and dropped my books." Rose throws her head back and laughs.

"Anyway," I continue, "some big burly guy helped me, but Edward watched me trip and just…like, didn't _laugh_, but sorta smiled, like he thought it was funny. So I called him an asshole under my breath when I was getting in the car."

She raises her eyebrows, but stays silent.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Pass._

"Okay, maybe I didn't exactly say it under my breath," I clarify. She smiles. "But then…"

_"Bitch." _

_He's looking at the ground when I look up, but I know it was him. I throw my books in the back seat and slam the door._

_"What did you say?"_

_He shifts uncomfortably and won't meet my eyes. I stomp around the car and right up to him._

_"Damn, E, who is this chick?" One of the guys asks. I don't look to see who it is, though, because my eyes are trained on him. _

_"No one," he says, and turns his head to nod toward the shop. They file through the door talking in low voices, leaving us standing in the dark spot between street lights. He leans back against the brick wall and finally makes eye contact. I realize that I haven't really looked at Edward Cullen in a long time. I lose my breath for a second at the intensity of his expression, the symmetry of his face...and something else that I can't put my finger on. There's anger, which I expect given the fact that I just called him an asshole, but also lust, which is so out of touch with his words that it doesn't make sense._

_His words echo through my head. _No one.

_"Fuck you," I whisper, but there's no fire behind the words. Maybe that's because I know he's right._

_He moves that slow gaze to my lips and then...and then I'm not really sure I can explain what happens next. I take another step forward and he drags his teeth across his bottom lip, and then I'm fisting his shirt and that bottom lip is between mine. _

Rose clears her throat. "I think I get the idea, _Danielle Steele_."

I exhale slowly, waiting for my cheeks to cool. "It was…yeah."

"He lives, like, half a block away from there."

I look at her knowingly.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Pass._

She stares off at the wall behind me, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Dude, I mean that's just so not you." I shrug because she's right and I don't have a good explanation for my behavior, either. "I don't mean that in a bad way," she clarifies, "I just mean it's…different. A new, assertive Bella." She says the words like she's trying them on to see if they fit.

"Oh yeah, I'm a role model for strong women everywhere," I say, laughing, but my smile fades after a second and I choke up. "He won't even look at me. I know he probably thinks I'm a total whore, but there was something there." She hands me a wad of tissues from my nightstand and takes the joint.

I blot my cheeks and continue, speaking quietly. "I never kissed Jasper and felt like that. He never looked at me like that…_during_…like it hurt to be that close, but he wanted to be closer. Like it was so good it made him want to cry." I think about that for a beat. "With Jasper it never made _me_ want to cry."

I stop. The weed makes my thoughts feel thick, weighty.

She speaks for the first time in a while. "Did you ask him?"

"Ask him what?"

"How he feels?"

It's an idea so simple that it's impossible.

My laugh comes out sad and wrong. "I can't ask him that. He won't even acknowledge that I exist." I turn and lay back on my pillow.

She lies next to me and turns her face toward mine. "Do you remember that black eye that Jasper had the day after he asked you to go out with him…or whatever we used to call it?" She rolls her eyes.

I frown. "In seventh grade? Yeah. His brother-"

She shakes her head. "Edward did it."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but I'd bet my left tit that it had something to do with you."

I take a minute to think about that. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She stares at the ceiling, stoned. "Edward asked me not to." They were good friends even back then, even before I knew her.

"Why would Jasper lie?" I ask. She raises her eyebrows, like I'm a moron. I decide to work that out when I'm not high.

We lay like that, side by side, blowing smoke into the air, until we get hungry enough to raid the fridge.

* * *

Christmas has a way of making you aware of all the things that already suck and somehow manages to make them suck a thousand times harder.

My parents are relatively happy together, I think. They go on a lot of trips, and both seem to find fulfillment in their careers. They say 'I love you' and kiss each other goodbye every morning. But this year I can't fulfill my role as the happy daughter, and it throws our whole dynamic off.

I notice that my mom drinks a lot, and that my dad sometimes gets this sad, defeated look on his face when he thinks we're not looking. Or maybe that was always there and I just didn't want to see it. I start to wonder what else I've missed, and start really watching the people around me, especially Rose.

We met when we started seventh grade. I had never met anyone like her and wish I could remember every word of our first conversation. I _do _remember that she was wearing baggy jeans and had her hair in a thousand tiny braids. She introduced me to all of my friends, even Jasper, and we bonded over a mutual love of Hello Kitty and defiance. Even though our rebellions took on very different faces, we remained friends.

The major differences between us lie in how we were raised. Her father is a psychiatrist, and her mother lives on white wine and delusion. Rose has been fighting against being too self-aware her entire life.

Her level of sobriety varies hourly, and I start to notice that she errs on the side of fucked up most of the time now. She steals pills from her mom and booze from her dad - and she steals money from both of them to buy whatever else she's on.

But she's a good friend to me, and in the end, she's one of the only people that I really trust.

So even though I'd rather drink bleach, when she tells me she wants to go to the New Year's party at Ben Cheney's, I concede. So here I am, standing in his kitchen, holding yet anotherred plastic cup.

We got stoned beforehand and lost track of time, so we ended up doing the countdown to midnight in a gas station parking lot with a bunch of strangers. Rose grabbed my face and kissed me, with tongue, much to the enjoyment of the other patrons. Well, the male patrons, anyway.

Everyone is really drunk by the time we get to the party. I find a few people to talk to, but this was never my crowd, so I trail behind Rose as she flits from group to group. The girl knows everyone and has absolutely no sense of the boundaries between cliques- to be honest, she really has no sense of cliques at all. I just try to keep up and ignore the fact that I'm probably known as the friend who used to be a cheerleader and is now a wanton floozy. We finally make it into the crowded living room, and she scans it, looking for someone.

I spot Edward before she does. He's sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, the brim of his hat obscuring most of his face. Some girl is talking to him, as usual. He nods distractedly every once in a while, but doesn't look at her.

"Edward!" Rose yells when she finds him amongst the bobbing heads and drunken dancers. He looks up, glancing between the two of us. She motions him over, and he hesitates. She taps her imaginary watch and he says something to the girl, who looks up to glare at us. Rose laughs out loud at that. He gets up and walks over, but doesn't say anything, his hat pulled down low so I can't see his eyes.

I've had just enough alcohol to express my irritation. "Hi!" I say loudly and sarcastically. He glances up and back down again.

"Hey."

I want to punch him in the mouth and then kiss him. I just want..._something_.

Rose links her arms through ours and pulls us outside. He pulls his hood up and we stand in the cold air while she pulls out a small bottle of something dark, passing it around. I hear her chattering on to Edward about some band she wants to go see, but don't really listen. He keeps his head down.

I jump when she yells, "Lauren!" and then runs back up the stairs, embracing a girl with a pierced nose and icy blond hair. She pulls her inside, giving each of us a meaningful look over her shoulder.

Subtlety has never been her forté.

We stand awkwardly for a second, and I'm about to tell him that I'm going back inside to drown my embarrassment in blue mystery punch, but I don't even get the first word out.

"Move," he says. I snap my gaze to his. He's looking down the street.

"What?"

"_Move,_" he says more urgently this time and grabs my arm, pulling me around the side of the house where he grabs something out of his pocket and tosses it in the bush next to us. "Cops."

I look back once to see the flashing lights before we run through the yard and into the alley. We duck into a neighbor's yard a few lots down and stand close together in a dark corner. A minute later another squad car rolls down the alley with its lights off.

We listen to people shouting and the scuffle of shoes on concrete as people run down the alley past us. The music coming from Ben's abruptly cuts off. I stand on my tiptoes to look over the fence and see people scattering, but can't see Rose.

"She'll be fine," he says quietly. I lower myself back down slowly, hyper aware of his close proximity.

"Yeah, I know, but she was my ride." If there's one thing I don't doubt, it's Rose's ability to take care of herself.

"I'll drop you off," he says, not looking at me. "We have to wait a few minutes. There are squads casing the side streets."

I stare at him, curious as to how he knows this and what he threw in the bushes. At the parties that I used to go to with Jasper, if they happened to be in the right part of town and the cops showed up, no one got busted. They just asked us to turn the music down and were even polite about it.

This was notone of those parties.

After the noise of the party, his car is too quiet and my ears ring. He drives stick, which makes him inexplicably hotter. I remind myself that he has given me no indication he even finds me tolerable as a person, and outside of that one night…we aren't anything to each other.

I glance at him a few times. He took his hat off and his short hair sticks up in places. It's really cute.

I should keep my mouth shut, but I've had just enough booze to lose my filter. "Who was that girl?" I ask after a few minutes.

He pauses. "Just a girl."

I wonder if I was just a girl. "Were you supposed to give her a ride home?"

He smiles, and it does something good to my stomach. "No." I wish he would do that more.

We don't say anything else, but I don't live too far away. He pulls up in my driveway and flicks the headlights off. My parents are out for the night and the house is dark and empty.

"Thanks for the ride."

He doesn't answer, and I don't move to get out of the car. A full minute passes before I speak again.

"Do you ever think about it?" I ask, but don't look at him.

He stays silent.

His hand grips the gear shift, and mine seems to act of its own accord, grabbing his gently and pulling it to rest on my knee. I slide it up the inside of my thigh slowly. He closes his eyes, exhaling.

I press his fingers where I want them and then wait, looking straight ahead, breathing hard, eyelids fluttering. He takes over, slipping inside the thin fabric and doing something that I can usually only do myself. I've been thinking about his hands, and what they looked like against my skin. I look down.

"I can't see," I say and lift myself up to slide my underwear down to mid-thigh. He's got two fingers sliding up and down over my clit, moving further into me on each downstroke. He pauses to circle me so slowly it hurts. I watch, trying to control my breath, trying to hold out.

My mistake is looking at his face. He's watching his fingers, his mouth slightly open. A loud cry spills out of my mouth when I come, my eyes on him. I leave a palm print in the fog on the window.

I take a second to recover before I lean over to press my lips against his neck. I reach for his belt, but his hands wrap around my wrists and push me back onto my side of the car. I sit there stunned for a second and go from stunned to mortified really quickly.

He releases my wrists and sits back in his seat, closing his eyes. "You must think I'm such a-" I start, but can't say the word.

He pauses, but shakes his head. "No." He could be lying. Between the cheating, the picture and the car finger-fuck, I know I'm not coming across like much of a lady, here.

"Then, what?" I demand.

"You aren't over him." I squint, trying to figure out why he got that impression and why it matters. I decide to just be honest.

"Maybe not, but after the picture thing…" I stop, flashing through that scenario for the millionth time. "It's going to be a lot easier." He's looking at his hands, and as usual I'm totally lost as to what he's thinking. "I didn't tell him, you know. I mean, I didn't tell him it was you."

"I know." His jaw clenches.

"It would have been worse."

He looks at me for the first time since we've been in the car. Really looks at me. My breathing gets shallow. "I'm not scared of Jasper," he says.

"I'm not saying you are."

"Are _you_?" I get what he's implying, but don't want him to think I'm a victim.

I break the stare that I've wanted so badly. "No, not like that."

When I look back he's unreadable, staring forward again.

"I wish you would talk to me," I say softly.

"I'm talking."

"Hardly. Most of the time you won't even look at me. Like I don't exist."

His laughter is abrupt, and I turn, confused when find his face angry.

He flips the headlights on and puts the car in reverse. I guess this is my cue.

"Happy New Year," I mumble, and get out slowly, hoping he'll stop me or say something. Instead he backs out quickly and drives away. I watch the taillights until they turn the corner.

I check to make sure Rose got out of the party okay, and she did, but she doesn't come back until dawn. I'm zoning out on the living room couch, the TV on low.

"I don't get it," I say as she crashes down next to me, obviously fucked up.

She makes a circular motion with her hand, like "spill it".

"It's like he wanted me to tell Jasper it was him."

The pause is long, and I check to make sure she didn't fall asleep, but she's staring at me knowingly. "He wanted you to make it real." She slurs her words slightly.

I sit up. "What does that even _mean_?"

"He wanted Jasper to know, so they could do some testosterone-fueled posturing, and then he could claim you…" She waves her hand lazily in the air. "…or some other caveman bullshit like that."

I lay back again, considering that. If true, it would indicate that he actually likes me. Maybe. I take into account that Rose is really drunk.

"Did you make out?" she asks after a minute.

I furrow my brow. "No." That also didn't occur to me at the time and makes me feel that much shittier. "But I made him get me off…and then he wouldn't let me do it back," I say, still confused by what happened.

She laughs really hard. "God, you two are such a pair."

I lay awake for a long time while she snores quietly next to me, trying to figure out where to go from here.

* * *

"I'm not climbing over that," I say, looking at the twisted, rusting metal fence in front of me. "I'll get tetanus or something."

"You are a total vagina sometimes, you know that?"

I glare at her, but brace my foot on top of a solid-looking bar and pull myself up and over. The way down is a little trickier, but I make it without any major injuries. My hands are dirty now, though, covered with orange rust.

I try to dust the grime off of my fingers, but it stained my skin. "Now will you tell me why we're here?" I ask again, looking around as Rose climbs over the fence.

"This is the ghost yard. It's where the subway cars used to sit overnight. If you got a piece up on one of the cars and it ran through the city the next day, you were the shit. But these were replaced by newer cars a long time ago, so now it's called the ghost yard. There's some work here that's older than either of us."

Living in the city, you stop noticing graffiti unless it's thrown in your face - suddenly scrawled across a bus shelter one morning, on the mailbox on the corner, or a freeway overpass.

The last one, especially, has always intrigued me.

I wonder how they get up there, and why you don't ever hear of people plummeting toward the pavement, being run over by speeding cars.

The rows of train cars are covered in words, sprayed in paint and written thick in marker. Some of them are easily legible, but I almost prefer those that I have to stare at for a minute. I focus on one large, bright piece that almost leaps off of the wall behind it. I make out an "A"…or maybe it's a "G"…

We walk slowly, taking in the tangle of curves and bright colors. "Most of the really old-school stuff is gone now, but there are a few," she points out some letters that are blockier than the rest, the paint faded and peeling.

"The thing is, people think it's all gang shit, but it really isn't always. Some are political, some social commentary, but my personal favorite is…" She leads me around the corner of one of the cars. "…the declaration of love."

I take in the train car in front of me. It's all done in black and white, with deep purple accents. The background is a night sky with stars dotting it, and the word in the center is dramatically framed and heavily shadowed.

"It's beautiful," I say, gazing at it for another minute before turning to the next piece.

Rose rolls her eyes and grabs my arm, pulling me back a few feet so I can see the car more fully.

"What?" I ask, frowning at her.

She laughs, shaking her head. "_Read _it."

I study the jumble of angles and curves in the center, trying to make sense of it. "I can't."

She traces the air with her finger, saying the letters out loud as she goes. I nod, noting that it's my name.

Rose just stands there looking at me until she realizes that I'm not going to get it. "Edward did it. Man, you're dense sometimes."

My eyes widen and I ignore her insult as I recognize the greater significance of what's in front of me.

_"What is this?" I ask, turning his arm to show a dark swash on the inside of his wrist._

_"Paint."_

_I dip my head down to press my lips to the spot, and kiss my way to his bicep, which flexes under my touch._

I think of his room, the sketchbooks stacked on the desk, the posters covering the walls…or were they posters? I didn't look closely enough, too caught up in him and his hands and lips and..._okay stop._

"It's the inner city equivalent of carving your initials into a tree," she says.

"So, Edward's a…tagger?" I ask, using my limited vernacular related to the subject. Even that rolls thickly off my tongue, completely foreign. I'm not cool enough to use terms like that, or to even be here, really.

Case in point, Rose laughs. "Not really anymore, but at one time, yes. That's him." I follow her finger to a smaller word inset into the design. It says 'reign'.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She gives me a pointed look. "Despite the fact that he's…the way he is...it's not something you really talk about with people who don't write. If you get big enough, the feds get involved, and if they figure out who you are..." she pauses, maybe thinking of people she used to know.

"He's big?"

She nods hesitantly, like she's not sure she should have said that. "He started when he was thirteen. He has a reputation for being reckless and really, really good."

"When did he do this?" I say, gesturing at the massive piece in front of us.

"A couple of years ago, I think. Mostly he works on legal walls, now. They cracked down, and some of those kids got multiple felonies. He doesn't do any of this anymore."

"_Years_?"

She just looks at me sadly.

I look back at the train car and wonder how it feels to do something like that. It's not that I've never done anything illegal, but this is on another level. I'd never have the balls. Second-hand adrenaline courses through me and I wish I could have seen him paint this.

I don't know if I've ever felt as free as these marks look, with the lines that follow no logical pattern, burning brighter because they lay on stolen steel. A long time ago, I used to think I was defiant and bold. And maybe once I could have been, but these declarations make me realize that I've never really made a declaration of my own. Not because I'm being repressed, but because I'm a coward who's been content with the surface layers of things for most of my life.

I'm not content anymore.

* * *

**Hope you all have a smashing weekend! You know I'll be drinking festive cocktails and tweeting nonsense, as usual. I'm (at)sweetlolapop if you're into that sort of thing. I'm locked, but only because bots are le suck. **

**I'm going to attempt to post teasers on the Fictionators blog every Monday, if I can get it together and figure out how to use the internets. Ha! We shall see.**

**Finally, if you haven't checked out the ForTheLoveofWomen Contest, you should! Submissions are being accepted from 12/26/10-2/6/11, and I'm very honored to be one of the judges! Link is on my profile. Check it out! **

**Thank you for reading, my friends. xoxo**


	3. My Life is Not a Movie

**Happy almost New Year! I wish you champagne kisses and caviar dreams in 2011, my friends. **

**Many thanks to my superfantastic beta, ShearEnvy, and to stephk0525 for prereading and being a wonderful friend. Also, thanks to all of you who read, rec and run around with me on twitter. I'm lucky to know you.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Bummer, dude.**

**

* * *

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I spend the rest of the weekend slowly ridding my bedroom of Jasper. Each photo, ticket stub, dried flower and cheesy gift is now sitting in a trash can in my alley, with the exception of one thing that I tuck into a drawer. On the whole, I'm surprised at my lack of sentimentality about all of it. These papers and trinkets were a part of me, and at one time defined me. Now it seems juvenile and cheap, though, like a child's plastic bracelet. The walls and shelves are mostly bare which I thought would be depressing, but really it's not. It feels…clean.

Rose meets me by my car before school on Monday.

"Why do you look so fucking chipper?" she asks when I smile at her. She's wearing sunglasses, despite the cloudy day. I can tell she's hung over.

"I'm going to try to talk to Edward today. Like, really talk to him," I say, shrugging to deflect from the fact that I'm nervous and excited.

She slows her pace, and then stops. "I doubt he'll be here." Despite the sunglasses, I can tell she's avoiding my eyes.

"Why?"

She takes a deep breath, rubbing her right temple. "I shouldn't have taken you to the ghost yard."

"He didn't know?"

"I thought it would help. I'm tired of watching the two of you dance around each other." Her tone is defensive. "He thinks I crossed a line."

I didn't think about it like that. "Did you?"

"Maybe. He's mad I told you about Jasper's black eye, too." She glances at me. "You know, I should just shut the fuck up. I'm only making this worse."

"So, is he mad at me?" I ask, unsure of what I should do next.

"No. I mean…it's not your fault. He's just so private, and I think he feels exposed now. I don't know."

I recognize the awkward position this puts Rose in, so despite the fact that I want her to tell me everything she knows, including why the hell she's so hung over on a Monday morning, I relent and leave her alone for the rest of the day.

After school is a different story, though. If she won't talk to me, he will.

Maybe.

* * *

I don't live that far from Edward, but we might as well live on different planets. My neighborhood is quiet and residential...almost a suburb floating like an island in the city, with cul-de-sacs, uniform hedges and tasteful, bland paint jobs. Driving toward his house I note the slow progression to older brick construction - converted warehouses, graffiti and the occasional pair of tennis shoes hanging from a power line. I remember reading once that's supposed to mean you can buy drugs on that corner, but figure that if I know about it, it's probably a dated reference.

I park and sit for a minute, looking around. The record store that it all started at is across the street, posters plastered up to block the windows. A liquor store, a porn shop and our coffee shop are all on this block. It's a mecca for starving artists, hipsters, and the homeless. About three blocks away the neighborhood starts to get really rough.

The bus stop on the corner has a tag on the side, and some part of me hopes that it's Edward's. I get out and walk over to check it out.

The mark is black, marring the Plexiglas. The strokes of the marker almost seem to float over it. I sit on the bench, next to an old woman surrounded by shopping bags. She's slowly filling in a puzzle in a crossword book and eyeing me warily, probably because I got out of a car to come sit on a bus bench. I smile at her and then try to ignore her stare, studying the lines in front of me.

Looking at that tag, I start to feel very small. I don't know shit about anything outside of the bubble I've existed in. There are entire parts of the city that I've never been to, people living lives that I can't even fathom. Someone made this mark, and I'll never know who they were, or why they did it, or what it means.

I guess this is what's different about me now. I never used to care about the why or how. The lives of people that I didn't know didn't interest me, and I sure as hell didn't sit on fucking bus benches staring at graffiti thinking these kinds of abstract thoughts.

Maybe this is what I need, though. Maybe what my life is missing is grit...dirt..._imperfections _that make things interesting. I think of his room, a jumble of records, markers and sketchbooks. The darkness of paint that wouldn't wash away, like the shadow of past transgressions under his fingernails.

Maybe I need to get my hands dirty, too.

The bus comes and the old woman gets up, moving slowly up the bus stairs with her bags. I think about just going home, because I have no idea what to say to him, but the thought of returning to my quiet room in my quiet house is so depressing that I can't stand it.

I know which building he lives in but didn't pay attention to the apartment number, so I have to search the mailboxes for Cullen.

When I push the intercom, the door unlocks, but no one invites me in. My stomach aches with anticipation as I climb the stairs.

The door is ajar, and this incredible scent floats out into the hall as I approach. It smells the way I think a home should...my mom isn't the baking type.

I walk in timidly, peeking around the large, industrial metal door.

There's a pretty woman at the counter, kneading dough, bracelets jangling as she works. I recognize the music playing in the background but can't place it.

"Hi," I say quietly, glancing around at the empty loft and taking in the details that I missed on my first visit here. There are exposed pipes and ductwork crossing the high ceilings, art on the walls and an easel in the corner that holds a blank canvas. My eyes land on Edward's closed bedroom door and flit back to her.

She's smiling at me. "Hi. Looking for Edward?" She looks down at the dough, patting flour on it lightly.

"Yeah, I'm Bella."

Her head snaps up, and she observes me differently this time. "Bella." She nods, smiling bigger. "He's on the roof. Out the door and up a flight," she says and goes back to her bread, shaking her head in amusement.

My steps echo on the concrete steps, her music still audible at the top of the stairs, echoing softly. I open the heavy door to the roof slowly. He's sitting on an old, rusted chair, his elbows on his knees as he gazes out at the skyline.

He looks up as the door closes behind me, but no surprise shows on his face.

Wind stirs the hair around my face. "Your mom let me in."

"My aunt," he says, and I cringe. I knew that from things Rose has said over the years.

"Sorry," I say, and he shrugs.

I swallow and then walk around him to sit in the other chair. He's got a perfect view of downtown and the river.

"I should have called, but I don't have your number."

He doesn't respond, which is something I'm getting used to, but I have no idea how to continue the conversation. Nothing with him ever seems to go the way I think it will.

"I never say the right thing," I say, even though I'm sure he's picking up on that. "I think Rose was just trying to help."

I look down at the black tar paper that covers the roof where it curls up at the edges of the sheets.

Even though he doesn't say anything, I can tell he's listening. "I can't lie...I have regrets." He stiffens, but I ignore it and continue, aware that the words I'm speaking could change everything. They're honest, and they're going to make me very vulnerable. I don't care. "But I don't regret the fact that I'm here with you."

He stands up and walks away from me to the brick ledge that surrounds the roof, shoving his hands in his pockets.

After a minute I stand, embarrassed and ready to make a run for the door.

He must sense that I'm going to bolt. "Just give me a second," he says.

I wait, watching his shirt whip in the wind. He squints against the sun.

He turns and focuses on me. "Look, I'm not good at this shit. Like..." he looks away before continuing, "the talking part."

He leans back against the ledge, his eyes moving between my eyes and lips. His expression softens slightly after a minute. "He knew. It would have taken me months to even really talk to you." One side of his mouth turns up slightly. "So I kicked his ass."

I open my mouth but he starts before I can say anything. "As for that shit Rose showed you, I don't do that anymore."

"It was beautiful," I blurt out.

He shrugs. "Maybe."

His hands are still in his pockets, and I reach for him, running my hand down his arm and tugging on his wrist. He's got paint under his fingernails again, even though I can tell he scrubbed them. I put my palm against his.

When he kisses me this time, it's the way a first kiss should feel, I think. His hand slides gently, cautiously to my hip, where he presses his fingers, urging me closer and then snakes his arm around my waist. His lips are warm and my hand runs over his jaw and down his neck to where I can feel his pulse. All there is in that moment is something intangible being exchanged that can only be done this way, without words.

We do something I haven't done since before I started having sex. He sits on one of the old chairs and pulls me down onto his lap, my legs on either side of him. We make out until it gets dark, staring at each other in between kisses. He pulls his sweatshirt around me when we get cold, wrapping both of us in it.

When he smiles I watch until he stops, like it might not happen again. Every time I see him feels like starting over, and I wonder if it will always be this way.

It's not until I'm in the car on my way home that I realize I have no idea what's going to happen at school tomorrow. For some reason I'm not as nervous as I thought I would be.

* * *

If my life were a movie, the next day at school would play out like this:

We would meet in the parking lot before school and he would grab my hand as we walk in, declaring us as a couple to the whole school. He would kiss me at my locker, Jasper would see us, start a fight and Edward would knock him out with one punch.

My life is _not _a movie.

I see him once before lunch, but he's at the other end of the senior hallway. He stares at me as he turns the corner, but he doesn't change his path. My face gets hot when he's out of sight and I shove my books in my locker.

Rose walks up grinning.

"Edward wants you to meet him in the prop room."

My breath catches in my throat and my heart beats faster, but I don't move. She raises her eyebrows at me. "What's wrong? I thought you'd take off running or something."

"I thought…I guess I thought things were going to be different."

A group of girls in cheerleading uniforms walks by. Jessica and Angela and a few of the other girls wave and say "Hi". Alice looks me up and down and rolls her eyes, making sure I see the disgust she feels about my outfit. It used to be rare that I would come to school in jeans and a hoodie, but it's becoming the norm for me these days.

"Don't you ever get tired of being a bitch, Brandon?" Rose calls after Alice, who just laughs.

Rose turns back to me. "Guess not." I smile.

She takes a deep breath, refocusing on me. "So you wanted him to, like, be your boyfriend or something, right?"

I swallow, and nod the smallest nod in the world. She sees it, though.

She sighs. "Bella, he's not Jasper."

I glance at her angrily. "I know."

"So he's not going to put his arm around you at lunch. He's not going to take you to school dances and hold your hand in the hallway. Edward doesn't care about that shit." I stare straight ahead. She softens her tone, and nudges me with her elbow. "He's worth it, though."

I actually do run to the prop room after I'm out of Rose's sight, but stop before I get there and take a minute to gather my thoughts. I look down at myself—jeans, hoodie and shaking hands. It freaks me out a little that I don't recognize myself. I'm not this girl.

Or... maybe I am now.

I push my way into the prop room; it's quiet and lined with racks of costumes and rows of mirrors rimmed with round bulbs.

"Hello?" My voice doesn't echo back to me. It's like speaking into a sound booth, muted and thick. I hear a rustle and look behind me. He's sitting on a dark, sunken couch that's next to the door. He tosses a sketchbook onto the cushion next to him.

I turn slowly and meet his eyes, letting my bag fall from my shoulder.

And then I know this is how it's going to be-clandestine meetings in dark, deserted rooms and in the remote stacks of the library. I should turn around and walk out, demand that he respect me enough to not try to fuck me in the prop room…but I guess I don't really feel disrespected. Maybe the hurt will set in later, but for now all I can concentrate on is my need to be near him.

I stand in front of him and his hands move up to rest on my hips, pulling me onto his lap.

"Hi," he says, and I lean forward to kiss him. It's different from yesterday, though, because his hands move lower, pulling me flush with him. Our kisses slow and then stop.

"Is that okay?" he asks, misinterpreting my pause. I roll my hips once.

"Yes."

One hand slides up my back and he holds me firmly, almost so I can't move, but I find a way to get the pressure where I need it, my slight movements causing me to shiver and shake.

He pulls my hands away when I reach for his belt. He brings my hands back up to his shoulders when I try to take my shirt off. I start to regret even thinking that I might not want him to try to fuck me in the prop room, and push against him harder.

His lips don't leave mine, and he smells so warm and tastes so good. My movements get jerkier, and I moan quietly into his mouth, still wanting to reach lower, touch more skin, feel his fingers on me, but each movement feels better and better just the same. I have a momentary wave of embarrassment at the desperation in my body, but it's overwhelmed by how good he feels beneath me. My orgasm doesn't sneak up on me, but the entire time I'm surprised that it's happening this way after everything we've already done. He moves me against him when I can't anymore, my lips on his neck, our chests pressed together.

I catch my breath, writhing against the slight discomfort of doing this while wearing jeans. He's still hard.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking down between us.

He shakes his head. "Don't be." But he adjusts himself, wincing slightly as he does it.

"I can't remember the last time I did that." The smile falls from my face when I realize that he'll know the only person I would have done that with was Jasper. He looks down.

"I don't think I've _ever_ done that," he admits.

"Well you wouldn't have had to if you let me take my clothes off," I say, waiting for his reaction, because frankly I'm a little confused as to why he's so hesitant. We've done more than this. A _lot_ more.

The light is dim, but I think he blushes. Instead of waiting for him to answer, I kiss him.

When the bell rings I'm dazed and disheveled. I look exactly like I just got dry-humped in a dark room by the hottest guy in school, with my swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

I climb off of him reluctantly and stand, grabbing my bag. He leans back, the hint of a smile on his face while he watches me turn to one of the mirrors and tame my hair.

He doesn't get up when I'm done and start walking toward the door.

"Don't you have class?"

"Free period."

I nod, trying to figure out what to say. Nothing comes to me. "So I guess I'll see you later?"

He picks up the sketchbook again and opens it. "Yeah."

I leave feeling like shit, and get about ten steps away before I turn around and walk back in. He looks up, and once again, his calm demeanor throws me off. I'm a mess, and he looks unfazed, like this isn't affecting him the same way that it's affecting me.

There is one major question that I want to ask, but I don't. The question I do ask makes him smile, maybe because I'm so nervous, or maybe because it's so...normal.

"Can I have your phone number?"

He reads the numbers off and I enter them into my phone with shaky fingers.

"I'll text you so you can have mine."

He nods, still smiling at me but with his brow furrowed, like something concerns him.

"Bye...again."

I leave awkwardly, bumping my bag against the door frame and saying "bye" one more time before the door closes behind me. It takes half an hour for my mortification to subside, and I can't concentrate for the rest of the day.

I don't text him until late that night.

_Tomorrow I'm wearing a skirt. –B _

_

* * *

_

I was right about a lot of things, but not everything. We find remote corners of the school to meet during the day, and for the first week it's always about him getting me off. Not that I don't try to get my hand in his pants, but I figure out he's reluctant to do that at school, because the first day I go to his loft after school he's all too eager to get head on the couch, and in his bedroom or one time, up on the roof... he won't fuck me, though.

I've never met any of his friends, and none of mine know about us outside of Rose. The longer it goes on, the less hope I have that this will be a healthy relationship. Rose just says, "What did you expect?" She's right, but I still want more.

There's no indication that he does, though. And because I'm me, I feel the need to push the issue.

He's on top of me, both of us shirtless, and I'm desperately pushing against him, trying to show him what I want. "Please," I plead.

His answer is a chuckle, and he backs up to push my underwear aside - his fingers feel so good, but there's something else I want.

"Edward, _please_," I say again, and that makes him pause. We don't say each other's names very often, even though his runs through my head pretty much all the time.

"Please what?" he asks, resuming the movement of his fingers.

I won't say it. He leans down, his lips on my neck, his torso pressed against mine. "Please what, Bella?"

He says my name quietly, but he says it, and it's my turn to still. He pulls back to look at me, and the expression on his face says things that we don't actually say to each other. I think. I might need to think these things out loud soon... but not yet.

His thumb slides against my clit. "Fuck."

"Yeah?" he whispers, so quiet that I can hardly hear him. I have to work to keep my eyes on him.

"It's all I think about," I say, a heavy gasp breaks up the words as he moves his fingers over me. He bites my neck lightly. "Stop or I'm gonna come."

He doesn't stop, and I can't keep it from happening. He claps his other hand over my mouth and when I open my eyes he's looking over his shoulder toward the door.

"Edward?" My hand replaces his and my eyes go wide when I hear the voice. He jumps up, pulling on a shirt and throwing mine at me. I pull it on and kick my bra under the bed as the door opens. "Do you want…?" Esme stops when she sees us, quickly taking in our appearance and backing out of the room. "Sorry, kid," she says simply, closing the door behind her with a smile on her face.

"Oh my god," I whisper, burying my face in my hands.

"Don't worry ab-" he starts.

"How would you feel if it was my dad that just walked in?" I say, getting up and fishing my bra out from under the bed. "I'm mortified."

"How could that happen? We never go to your house." He turns away from me to press play on the stereo.

I watch him, my brow furrowed, trying to figure out who the fuck this kid is. And what he wants. I'm frustrated.

Hip-hop comes on, filling the awkward silence between us.

"We can go to my house. I guess I just didn't think about it like that."

"I don't really care," he says, grabbing a sketchbook and sitting down but still not looking at me. We sit there for a few minutes, neither of us speaking. I have the strong urge to grab my shit and leave, but I don't move. He is always pulling away, but…something about that doesn't feel right. Maybe it's just a defense mechanism. And I realize what mine is, too. It's what went wrong with Jasper and me. I rarely said what I meant.

"Do you like me?"

He doesn't look up right away, but when he does his face is solemn. He nods.

"Okay." I pause, and rephrase the question. "I mean, do you actually _like _me, or do you just want to be fuck buddies?"

His expression is incredulous, but I don't know why he's surprised.

"The mixed signals…I have no idea what you're thinking. Here, like this, I'm sure that you do, but then at school it's all back hallways and secret texts."

The sketchbook hits the floor and he caps the marker in his hand slowly. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it _like_, Edward?" His eyes snap to mine at the sound of his name.

I can actually see him shut down—shut me out.

I grab my bag and stand a few feet from him. He won't look at me. "Well, I like you," I say. "And not just as a fuck buddy."

It's the second time I've walked out of this place with tears in my eyes.

* * *

The next day is a Saturday, and he doesn't text or call, although we've only talked on the phone a handful of times. Talking to Edward on the phone is acutely painful, because I can't read his facial expressions and therefore can't interpret what he's actually saying.

He shows up on Sunday morning before I'm even out of bed, though. My mom knocks on my bedroom door and pokes her head in.

"Bella? There's an Edward here to see you."

I bolt upright like she shocked me. "Fuck."

"Language, Bella. I'll entertain him until you're ready."

I've never made myself presentable so fast in my entire life. My mom is totally flirting with him and sipping a mimosa when I get downstairs. He's sitting on a stool, his baseball cap is on the counter next to him. I almost smile at that bit of politeness.

"Nice to meet you," he says, grabbing his hat and smiling shyly at her before following me up the stairs.

"It was nice to meet you, too, Edward," she calls behind us.

I shut the door behind us and lean against it as he sits on my bed and looks at the ground.

"What's up?" I ask after a minute of silence.

"What do you want?"

The question catches me off guard. "The truth?"

He looks at me like I'm a moron.

"I don't want to be your secret."

He gets dangerously close to rolling his eyes. "You're not."

"You won't talk to me at school."

"You didn't talk to me for like six years!" he says, his voice raised maybe for the first time since I've known him. My eyes tear and he stands up, pulling his hat on and tugging on the brim to hide his eyes. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "I painted that shit for you. _That's_ how I feel." He pauses. "But for some reason you think I'm the one in control here."

He walks over to where I'm backed up against the door. "You have to stop resenting me," I say.

"You have to stop expecting me to be something I'm not."

I think about that for a second and nod. "Why won't you have sex with me?"

He laughs, probably at my bluntness. "I didn't want you to think that's all this was about."

His lips meet mine so I can't respond right away. "Can't it be about both?"

"Fuck, yes." He presses against me. "But honestly, I don't mind waiting."

Because my parents are home, we keep our clothes on, but it's safe to say that I'm worked up beyond the point where I can wait much longer by the time he leaves. I walk him to his car.

"So tomorrow…" I start, and then shrug.

"I'll pick you up."

I try to keep my smile in check, but can't. "Really?"

He rubs the back of his neck, grinning. "Yeah."

* * *

**Next week I'm going to actually post on Friday, and I'm going to post teasers in a timely fashion. What? I will! Pinky swear. **

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Crash

**Yahoo! Chapter 4 comin' atcha. **

**Thank you to ShearEnvy for her fantastic beta insight and for being a wonderful lady. Thank you to stephk0525 for prereading and being awesome!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

I'm so nervous that my stomach hurts and I hardly slept last night.

I've run through this scenario in my head a thousand times since Edward and I started secretly dating, however all those versions had a hazy, dreamlike quality and were carefully edited with music and slow-mo interludes.

In reality, the picture is a whole lot sharper.

I'm ready half an hour before his car pulls up, but I still wait a full minute with my hand on the doorknob before I go outside, trying to keep up the pretense that I'm not about to jump out of my skin.

He has a little smile on his face as I get in the car. I lean over, kiss him quickly on the lips and pull back. Almost like a test—a question.

_Do you want to do this?_

He reaches over and grabs my scarf, pulling me closer. I'm suitably reassured. After a minute I break our kiss and look at the clock. My mom is standing at the front window as we pull away. I can't make out the expression on her face, but she spent the entirety of dinner last night asking me questions about him. I knew about half of the answers.

"Did you sleep?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't look bothered by it.

"Neither did I."

By the time we pull up to school the lot is mostly full, and I'm surprisingly calm until he pulls into a spot across from where Jasper, Emmett and a group of their friends are standing. Edward doesn't show any emotion through his cool exterior.

I can see the familiar letter jackets behind us in my side mirror when we come to a stop.

"We had to park here?" I ask, turning to look at him and take a deep breath.

He shrugs. "Does it matter?" and then looks me over from head to toe. "Nice...shirt," he says, focused on the tiny amount of cleavage showing over my v-neck t-shirt and below my scarf.

"You seriously have a one-track mind," I say, and zip my sweatshirt up further, but my nerves abate a little.

"Ready?" he asks, and he's not just asking about getting out of the car. I smile, so he opens his door and gets out. I follow his lead and keep my eyes on the ground until I get to where he's waiting for me by the trunk of his car.

Someone says "What the _fuck_?" quietly, and I look up, only at Jasper. His gaze bounces between us, disbelief and anger obvious.

I can't stand the scrutiny and turn to look at Edward. When our eyes meet he reaches for my hand; I take it, and then it's done. There's nothing left open to interpretation in that gesture.

We walk through the parking lot, both of us looking at the ground in front of us. In my peripheral vision I see people stop and stare, but the only person I focus on is Edward. I've gotten used to the whispered hush of gossip around me, but he's not. When I glance at him, he's barely hiding his smile, and I realize that my expression mimics his. Neither of us want to flaunt it, but our happiness peeks through regardless.

"You don't have to walk me to my locker, you know," I say quietly as we approach it.

He lets my hand go so I can get my books out, leaning against the locker next to mine. "I've been _told,_" he says significantly, "that this is what normal people do."

"Rose," I say, rolling my eyes.

He smiles.

"What does she know about normal?" I whisper, leaning in with one hand on his chest, pressing my lips to his ear. "Thanks for the ride." I mean thanks for a lot more, but I think he understands that.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, and he kisses me once on the lips. Someone near us gasps audibly, and we both grin but don't look to find out who it is.

I keep my head down for most of the morning, like I did right after Jasper and I broke up, but it's to hide the fact that I'm fucking giddy right now more than anything.

Jasper corners me in the library during English.

He sits in the cube next to mine, dropping his books carelessly on the desk. His cologne makes me feel nostalgic, but also kind of sick at the same time.

"What's up, Jasper?" My voice comes out weary, like I'm already tired of this conversation.

He looks over, his eyes narrowing. "How could you?"

I laugh out loud, and then remember where I am and lower my voice. "How _could_ I?" He glares at me. "Oh yeah, you're such a victim."

He looks down.

"Are you still going to San Diego?"

The question catches me off guard. We planned to go to school together, which is something I've been debating since we broke up. The only reason I wanted to go there was because of him, and now it's the reason that I don't want to go. My dad almost had a heart attack when I told him that I was thinking of taking a year off. He's threatening to make me intern at his law firm if I don't go to school.

"I don't know."

"I'll miss you."

I look away to collect my thoughts for a second. "I don't even know what to say to that. Why are you acting all wounded? We haven't talked in months." I know why, though.

His words are quiet, but his tone is desperate. "Fucking Cullen, Bella? First you cheat on me, and now Cullen?"

I don't have to say that they're one and the same, because he can tell by my silence and the look on my face.

He slams his chair into the desk when he leaves, making me jump. I collect myself for a minute, swallowing back tears, before I get up to sneak out of the library and go hide somewhere.

Jessica and Angela wave me over to their table on my way out. I can tell they didn't see me with Jasper, because Jessica wouldn't hesitate to ask me what he said. She, as always, starts talking like we're already in the middle of a conversation. I sit after a second, finding that I don't mind the distraction after what just happened.

"Doesn't he, like, have a police record? Also, I heard he has a tattoo of a dragon on his back."

"He doesn't have any tattoos, Jess." I ignore the police record question, because frankly I have no idea.

She sits back in her chair, smoothing her skirt down and tightening her ponytail. "I'm just saying, everyone's talking about you two."

"I'll give you this," Angela chimes in, reapplying her lip gloss, "Edward is fucking hot. So basically, every girl in this school wants to be you. _Again_." She rolls her eyes, but smiles while she does it.

Jessica throws her hands up. "It's so unfair! Some girls have all the luck! There are, like, no good, available guys at this school now that Jasper's fucking Ali…" she trails off, looking at me apologetically.

"Jess!" Angela cries out, smacking her arm. The people at the table next to us glare in our direction so we lower our voices.

I laugh, even though the image of the two of them together makes my stomach turn. "It's fine, you guys. I'm the one who cheated on him, so…whatever."

Jessica leans forward and glances around conspiratorially. "Speaking of…how is Edward in bed?" she whispers. Angela gapes at her but Jessica ignores her and keeps going. "Is it all true?"

Despite herself, Angela turns expectantly to hear my answer. Apparently my expression answers for me.

"I fucking _knew it_," Jessica whisper-yells. Angela just smiles, shaking her head.

"Hey, how are things with you and Mike?" I ask Jessica, in an attempt to change the subject. She drops her head onto her forearms dramatically. Angela speaks for her. "Alice had a party last weekend." She pauses. "Sorry." I shake my head. "And Mike did, like, eighty shots and pulled a Risky Business…sans tighty whities." My jaw drops and Jessica peeks up at me before hiding her face again.

Angela nudges her with her shoulder. "I don't know why you're so embarrassed, now at least everyone knows why you put up with his idiocy." She holds up her hands to indicate his size, smiling at me.

"No," I gasp.

"Yes," Angela confirms. We both look at Jessica, who flicks us off.

We laugh until the librarian shushes us and we lower our voices.

"How's the squad?" I ask, feeling a twinge of remorse. There are things that I miss. I miss the competition, and the camaraderie.

Jessica shrugs. "It's fine. No one does a liberty like you, though."

"We miss you," Angela says sincerely, and that makes my eyes want to tear again, so I look down at my books, pretending to read something. "You could come back, you know. Alice is a bitch, but it's not like she doesn't realize how good you are."

I shrug. "It's not Alice. It's just…everything feels different now. I can't explain it. I'm not saying that I'm totally happy, but I wasn't then either, you know?"

It's obvious that they don't know, but that's okay.

"I love you guys," I say, instead of trying to explain further.

"I'll love you more if you text me pictures of Edward's dick," Jessica says. I toss a notebook at her and we get kicked out of the library for laughing too loud.

* * *

_Duuuuuude, party at Newton's Friday. –R _

Most high school parties are segregated into different schools, and then within the school, into different social groups. Jocks, theater kids, potheads, nerds…whatever. It's rare to find a party that encompasses all of these groups of people. That is, unless Mike Newton's parents are out of town. His parties draw kids from all around the city. Mike is just one of those people who knows people, and it's difficult not to like him.

_No fucking way. –B_

She doesn't respond, but Edward's phone vibrates a second later.

"I'm not going," I say, before he can check his phone. He smirks and picks it up to read the text.

"Why not?"

I'm lying on his bed staring at the art that covers his room while he sketches next to me, leaning against the wall. "All my old friends…jello shots and keg beer…just no." I really mean that Jasper will be there, drunk, and I don't want to deal with it. I've deleted more than a few late night text messages from him the last week, and endured some really pathetic gazes at school.

"Oh come on. My boys from South will probably be there."

South is our rival high school from across the city, a school that's known to be rougher and not as well funded as ours.

"I _do_ want to meet your friends," I admit, thinking back to who was standing in front of the record store with him.

"Cool," he says, but there's uncertainty in his tone now.

An hour later, I'm coming, unable to stop my hips from pushing forward against his tongue. I'm resting back against my elbows so I can watch.

"Holy shit you're good at that," I breathe out, flopping back onto the comforter.

He kisses the skin beneath each of my hipbones as I stretch my arms over my head. He flops down next to me on his stomach. I trail my fingers over his back and we're quiet for a while.

"So...maybe we shouldn't go to that party."

I stare at the ceiling, and suddenly feel the need to get dressed. I sit up and pull on my tank top. "Okay."

"Okay," he says, and neither of us move for a minute.

"Okay, why not?" I ask finally.

He sits up, rubbing his hand over his face. "I thought you didn't want to go."

"I thought you _did_," I counter, raising my eyebrows at him while I pull my underwear on.

"My friends...they're just different than people you know. We used to do a lot of stuff that I'm not proud of...some of them still do."

I consider that, and turn to face him, sitting cross-legged. The dog tags that he never takes off hang down his chest against the defined muscles. I found out one morning that he uses the bar above his doorway to do pullups, which accounts for the arms, and chest, and back... my lips press against his shoulder and he relaxes.

"I think exactly the same thing all the time."

He smiles, and my fingers trail down the silver chain that lies against his skin. "Alright, let's go. I know they want to meet you."

I press my lips to his neck, smiling. "Did you tell them about me?"

He swallows. "They know."

I get up on my knees and straddle him, and his arms automatically move to my waist. He pulls me closer. "Are you done waiting yet?" I ask.

"Waiting for what?" he asks, kissing my collarbone.

"Oh please, don't act like it's not all you can think about." His lips find mine and confirm my statement, as does his grip on my hips.

"I thought we were having fun," he says, tugging at the hem of my tank top to expose more of my chest, kissing the skin that slides into view.

"You're such a fucking tease," I say, gasping when he gets to my right nipple.

He flips me over and hovers over my body, one knee between my legs. "Want me to stop teasing?"

He's serious. I nod, my mouth open slightly and my eyes half closed.

The relief in fucking him is very physical, but that doesn't explain the tear that slides down my cheek when he's fully inside me for the first time since...the first time. He brushes the tear away, and we watch each other, both taking in the other's expressions and bodies, where we connect and how we move together.

It's better than I remember, but as I lay there afterward with my head on his chest I realize why he wanted to wait.

We're in deep now.

* * *

We ride with Rose, so we're late and have to park almost a block from the party. The bass is still audible from that far away. People are walking toward the house in groups, passing joints and sipping off bottles.

"Isn't this great?" Rose says, spinning with her arms in the air. "You never know what could happen!"

The same reason that she's excited is the same reason that I'm nervous. Rose has been really supportive of Edward and I, but she's also been acting strange lately. I try not to pry into her friendship with Edward, but I did ask him what he thought. He just shook his head, but I could see the concern on his face.

A group of guys stand in a circle on the front lawn, smoking what looks like a blunt and taking turns rapping to the bass sounding from the house. They're all dressed like Edward, with hoods up over baseball caps pulled down low. Rose runs up to them, throwing her arms around a guy that I recognize as the one who helped me pick up my books in front of the record shop. She turns but keeps one arm around him, whispering in his ear as the two of them watch us approach. Edward and I walk up hand-in-hand.

"Where you been at, E?" One guy asks, eyeing where my tits are obscured by my coat while he passes Edward the blunt.

"This is Bella," Edward says in response, pausing to exhale a stream of thick smoke.

"I _like_ it," the big guy answers, looking me up and down and winking at me from under the brim of his hat.

"Bella, this is Jake, Sam, Quil, Embry and Paul." I give them a small wave, smiling.

Rose kisses Jake full on the lips. "I need a drink," she says, turning to strut toward the house. It only takes that kiss for me to place Jake in the context of Rose's life. They're friends, but they occasionally mess around. I try to block out the things that she's told me about him in that regard. I'd like to be able to look at him without picturing his dick.

I hear a collective roar sound as she throws the door open dramatically and dances in.

"We're _so_ taking a cab home," I say, looking after her. I have spent many a Saturday morning driving around side streets in the city, looking for Rose's abandoned car. At least this time I'll know where it is...I hope.

Edward passes me the blunt, and I look at it apprehensively before taking a tentative hit. They laugh when I cough, but it's not mean-spirited.

Jake hands me a bottle of something clear to wash it down. It's not water, but I manage to keep my cringing to a minimum.

"So how do you all know each other?" I ask.

I don't understand the laughter that follows my question, and wait for an explanation. Their dynamic is interesting, like they are all completely in tune with one another. Much of their communication is nonverbal. I'm aware that I'm an outsider, but I'm also strangely drawn to their warmth and sense of family, maybe because it reminds me of what it feels like to have a cohesive group of friends. Even Edward laughs, and Jake punches him lightly on the shoulder. It's the first time I've ever seen Edward seem so comfortable...so at home.

"E's my brother from way back. When his mom left, he lived with me until Esme's _fine_ ass showed up."

He and Sam slap each other's hands in some handshake. I expect Edward to stiffen, or show some sign that Jake said too much, but he just says "asshole" and laughs.

He clears his throat lightly. "I blame these fuckers right here for any trouble I've ever been in," Edward says.

The whole group groans. "Bullshit!" Jake yells, pointing at him. Edward laughs, which makes me smile.

Sam throws his arm around my shoulder. "Girl, we could tell you some stories..."

Edward pulls me away from Sam and toward the door, but he's smiling. Jake jogs up behind us and stops us before we get to the steps. "Yo, E. So..." his eyes flick to me and back, "...Leah and Rachel are here."

Edward doesn't really react, but I can see the slight difference in his expression. "Thanks," he says, as he and Jake share a look.

I watch him, waiting for him to explain, but he just opens the door for me and gives me a small smile, though I can see the stress behind it.

It's hot, full of writhing, scantily clad chicks and guys who are desperately trying to rub their groins on them, which is pretty typical for a party at Mike's. Edward keeps me close as I take my coat off, mean-mugging guys who check me out and ignoring the girls who eye him as we walk by. We throw our coats into the pile that formed in a corner of the den.

"Beware the coat pile," I say as we walk toward where I think the bar is, trying to lighten both his mood and mine.

"What?"

"Someone _always_ fucks on the coat pile," I say knowingly.

He laughs.

"Oh you laugh now, but just wait until you have jizz on your jacket," I say as he hands me one of the shots lined up on the bar.

Jessica and Angela stop to talk to us. Both of them look up at Edward, almost dazed when he speaks, even though it's only a few words. He hardly makes eye contact with either of them, and I start to realize that's part of his mystery. He doesn't really look at people, so when he does it renders the unsuspecting defenseless.

Two girls, who I figure are Leah and Rachel, saunter up while we're talking.

"Where the fuck have you been?" one of them demands, punching his arm. They look like twins, tall, dark and lean. Both of them eye Jessica and Angela until they walk away, whispering and glancing back at us.

As before, he answers that question by introducing me. Rachel, the one who punched him, gives me a nod in acknowledgment while Leah looks me up and down.

"So, you're the cheerleader."

"Leah," he says, warning in his tone.

"I was."

"And now what are you?" she asks, her eyes burning into mine.

"I don't know," I answer, because...I really don't know.

"I think I know what you are," she says coldly. Rachel hands her a shot, rolling her eyes. I glance at Edward, hoping for some clue as to why this chick is being so hostile. His unhappy expression spells it out.

"Chill, Lee," Rachel says.

"Fuck off," Leah says back, but she looks at me while she says it.

Mike Newton takes that opportunity to walk up, throwing an arm around me jovially. "Bella!" He's already drunk, although he's like this even when he's sober.

Leah stares at Edward, who's looking at the ground. Rachel is flirting with the guy standing next to her at the bar. Mike is chattering in my ear about football and shots, all the while raising his glass to people around the room. He's oblivious to the tension.

I shrug out from under his arm and he pats me on the back before turning to someone else.

I've been avoiding Edward's gaze for the moment, but now I gesture between him and Leah, irritated and embarrassed that I have to ask this question. "So you two...dated?"

Edward shakes his head, but there's clearly some guilt there.

Leah's jaw sets and her eyes narrow as she glares at him. "No," she bites out. "Apparently we were just fucking."

The noise of the party deadens in my ears as blood rushes to my head. Both sympathy and rage war inside me. I know how she feels, but I really, really want her to go away.

She leans in too close to me, and I hear Edward say her name again angrily, but it's distant over her words. "I heard you begged Jasper Whitlock to take you back, but he didn't want to date a _slut_ anymore." She backs off, laughing cruelly, but I see a hint of something behind that. Maybe genuine pain.

I've found my breaking point. "I didn't know about you," I say firmly.

Leah looks between Edward and me. Her gaze softens infinitesimally. The pain that I wasn't sure I saw is plain on her face now.

"But either way, don't _ever_ fucking talk to me like that again."

Edward puts a hand on my arm, which I shake off. "Just..." I put my hands up and shake my head, hoping he reads my signals clearly. I need a minute. I grab my full beer and walk into the crowd, leaving them all behind. No one moves to stop me.

Mike has a great house. It's huge, and has some secret spots that Jasper and I discovered over the years of partying here. There's a porch on his third floor that not many people know about. It's empty tonight, lit by white Christmas lights that are strung across the beams in the peak. The windows look out in every direction. I can almost see my house from here, with downtown in the distance.

I struggle to find some perspective.

The heavy footsteps moving toward the porch make me tense, but I'm not expecting to see Emmett when his head pops through the door. He grins and comes out, standing next to me to look out over Mike's neighborhood.

"Hey, Em," I say, my voice breaking. I turn my face away.

"Hey, B." He puts an arm around my shoulder after a minute, and I lean my head against him. I realize that this is the first time I've had any real contact with any of the guys that I used to call my best friends. I also realize that I've really missed Emmett, because he didn't end up on this porch by accident. He must have seen what happened and followed me.

I shift away from him, wiping my eyes as I sigh. "I feel like I just got thrown to the wolves. That's one thing I miss about Jasper...I always knew what to expect."

"You were bored out of your mind."

I laugh. "So are you."

He nods, grinning. "True. So, what happened?"

He listens while I relay the story about Leah, nodding and making the appropriate faces. "Rose mentioned her at one point, but it didn't sound like they were serious. It _did _sound like she was a bitch, though," he throws in at the end. He smiles when he says Rose's name.

"_What_?" I don't mean for it to come out as harsh as it does.

True to Emmett's character, he takes it in stride. "She didn't tell you about us," he says, resigned. It truly sounds like he's just figuring that fact out. It takes me a minute to process everything and respond.

"I knew about last year...but apparently, I have no idea what the hell is going on now," I say. His expression makes my heart hurt. He's always been one of my favorite people, and at one point was someone that I felt could understand my unhappiness. He might still be able to, I realize, looking at him.

"It doesn't mean she doesn't like you, Em," I say, although I can't say for sure that she does.

He shrugs. "And her not telling you about Leah doesn't mean she's not a good friend," he says.

I look out the window. Someone is throwing up in the bushes behind the house. For some reason that depresses me more than anything else that's happened tonight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"How is he? I mean _really,_ how is he?"

Emmett sighs. "Okay," he says quietly. "But he took that shit really hard. I hate to say it, but Alice has actually been really good for him."

That makes me curious. "How so?"

"She doesn't put up with bullshit, so she's completely got him by the balls."

I laugh despite myself. "That doesn't surprise me."

"He's still not over you, though."

I rub my eyes, remembering too late that I'm wearing eyeliner. "He came up to me in the library."

"He almost broke his hand punching a wall after that," he says, looking down at his hands and palming his fist, like he can feel that pain.

My shoulders sag under the weight of his statement, but I understand that it's not only mine to bear anymore. We're all a part of this mess.

"I should go find Edward," I say, guessing he's probably upset.

"I'll go with you." He stands, helping me to my feet.

"How long have you guys been...whatever?" I ask as we walk slowly down the steps. He understands that I'm talking about Rose.

"Couple of months. We fight a lot...mostly about the drugs."

I sigh. "I've been there." I reach up and squeeze his shoulder.

We walk into the living room and right into the middle of a standoff.

Jasper is squared off in front of Edward, muscles flexed and fists clenching. "Fucking dick."

Edward looks at me over Jasper's shoulder. I neglected to fill him in on the fact that Jasper knows everything now. He doesn't look angry, though.

He surprises me. "I'm sorry," he says over the music, looking Jasper in the eyes.

Witnessing a fight brew is like watching the fuse burn down on a stick of dynamite. It's tense and slow, and then it suddenly moves in fast forward. They never get it right on TV. It's not choreographed, it's messy, and you never really know what happened until it's over.

Jasper swings and Edward backs away so he just misses him. I lose track of the movements then as people crowd around us, shouting, but I hear a few hits connect, the distinct sounds of fists on flesh audible even over the music. Emmett grabs Jasper and Jake grabs Edward, and then all that's left is a space where their rivalry culminated, after all these years.

Blood pours out of Jasper's nose and he struggles out of Emmett's grasp, wiping his face and glaring at me as he walks out of the room, his boys following suit.

By the time I look up to where Edward was, he and Jake are gone.

The circle breaks and people stand there for a second, but eventually drift away to get another drink, some disappointed that the fight was broken up, some relieved. I just stare at the spot on the floor, a few drops of blood the only indication that it happened.

I lift my eyes to meet Alice's, and the look on her face is the thing that really bothers me later. Devastation…resignation. She stares at me, her eyes wet with tears, before turning and walking away.

Rose's arm curves around mine, and when I look over she looks appropriately apologetic. Edward must have told her about Leah. She doesn't apologize, because that's not her style, but I really wish she would. We stand together for a second, the party resuming around us. It's all too much. This night...this year...I take a deep breath and try to will my heartbeat to slow.

"I need to get out of here."

We turn together, and she doesn't let go of my arm as we walk out. I glance over, and see her eyes darting around like she's looking for someone. Then it dawns on me who she's looking for.

"You're fucking Emmett," I say. In another situation, this would be a joke, but right now I can't muster the humor to lighten my statement.

Her gait falters but she keeps walking, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. "Fine. Yes. But I don't really like him or anything." She smiles, but I don't.

There's something profoundly sad about her inability to allow someone to get close enough to her to pierce the armor. I wonder if this is why we all get half-truths from her. Because if everyone knew everything, we would all see each other clearly, including her.

We stop to get our coats, and I watch while she finds the fur coat that once belonged to her mother and shrugs it on. Her mom won't notice that she took it through her perpetual haze, and Rose says it's got these hidden inside pockets that are perfect for contraband.

"Liar," I say quietly yet seriously. She stiffens but doesn't look at me.

"I should've told you about Leah," she says, with an uncharacteristic regretful look on her face.

"That's not what I mean. Don't shut Emmett out just because he's not what you thought the right guy would look like," I say, shaking my head.

Her eyes flash and I can tell I hit a nerve. "Says the girl who dated the wrong one for six years," she says bitterly.

She's right, but that doesn't matter. "So, I say it from experience then."

Her hand slips into her coat and produces a flask, which she opens and upends into her mouth. "What's your problem? I said I was sorry."

"No, you didn't."

She looks at me finally, and her eyes shine with anger and sadness. "Well, I am."

The door slams behind her when she walks out.

Rose and I very rarely fight, but when we do it's usually because I get too close to something that she doesn't want to examine about herself or her life. I'll be in the dog house for at least a week after this conversation.

I get my coat, and Edward's, and find everyone on the porch. Rose is tucked under Jake's arm, and she pointedly ignores me. Edward has a bruise forming under his left eye and his knuckles are swollen, but other than that he's unscathed. We stare at each other from a few feet away.

Jake walks off, pulling Rose with him. Emmett must still be with Jasper, not that he'd probably want to walk into this crowd right now. The rest of Edward's friends trail behind Jake and Rose, and most of them nod at me as they leave, less talkative now than at the beginning of the party. Usually it's the other way around.

When they're gone, I turn back to Edward, resisting the urge to walk into his arms. "Are you okay?"

He nods, flexing his hand.

"I'm sorry about Leah. I just didn't want to make you feel worse than you already did," he explains.

"I get it, but you can't just keep things from me and say you're protecting me." He looks me in the eyes. "I mean...what else don't I know?" I shiver, pulling my coat tighter around me.

He exhales, looking off to the side, and it comes out in a disjointed stream. "I've been arrested four times. Three for trespassing and vandalism and once for assault, but it could've been a lot worse, considering the shit I've done. My dad died four years ago, and then my mom left..." his voice catches, "...I hated her for it, but I don't now. She lives in California now."

He looks at me, and I have to fight to keep my composure.

"As for Leah...it wasn't like she was my girlfriend. I told her I couldn't see her anymore right after." He smiles sadly. "She keyed my car."

I smile, but it's shaky and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying.

It only takes him three steps to get to me. He picks me up so I can wrap my legs around him and we stay that way for a few minutes, wrapped around each other. I back up to kiss him, my face damp. The shift makes me aware of his body.

"How are you hard right now?"

He just smiles and kisses me.

"Let's go," I whisper, and he puts me down, taking my hand and leading me away from the last of Newton's parties that either of us will attend.

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**Next chapter is EPOV. I'm excited. :)**


	5. Kick Flip

**EPOV!**

**I must thank ShearEnvy, my beta and pal, for putting up with my continual comma abuse and inexplicable sentence structure. **

**Also, so many thanks to stephk0525 and ilsuocantante, my prereaders, friends and fellow flailers. I couldn't do this without them. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

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Edward

_Blood drips onto my shorts from my elbow, but I ignore it. My mom's gonna be pissed. She hates skateboarding. __But w__hat's pissing _me_ off is the trucks on my board. I get the allen wrench into the kingpin, but it keeps slipping out._

_After this happens the fourth time I whip the tool at the ground. My board follows. I sit with my head in my hands and take a few breaths. The sun is starting to set, and hard shadows settle behind the ramps in the skate park. When I look up I see Tyler Crowley land a backside board slide, his hair blazing orange in the light. _

_"Nice," I call out, and glance at the spot where my board landed. _

_It's not what I'm really mad about. _

_I think about what I said to Jasper two days ago. We were watching Rose and Bella chase each other with these stupid squirt guns that Rose got for them, and I said__,__ "I like her". He said__,__ "yeah, she's alright". That keeps running through my head. "Yeah, she's alright." How did he get from that to giving her a shitty gas station rose the next day? _

_And I know it was a shitty gas station rose, because Rose saw him buy it, and says she feels personally insulted that he would get Bella a flower sharing her name that sat next to trucker speed and cheap Old Gold cigarettes on the counter. It might be __in that moment __ that she figures out that I like Bella, but to her credit, she keeps her mouth shut._

_He kissed her after school in the alcove by the library, which may feel private but really isn't. Everyone walking by could see._

_Including me. _

_I skated straight here and tried to land a three flip that I've been perfecting for the last few weeks, but didn't get it even once today. And my elbow __is __really starting to hurt. I look at it before I throw my board under my arm__, __and grab the wrench and shove it in my pocket. When I turn, I see Jasper walk through the gate. He's wearing baggy shorts and a "vintage" shirt, but all that shit's from the mall__...__and he can skate, but not well. Most of the time he stands around with his shirt off for the benefit of the hood rats that come out here to check us out. _

_I just fuckin' skate. _

_He's talking to Tyler when I walk up, and he punches me in the shoulder, lighter than usual. "'Sup, brah?" He sounds so stupid when he says shit like that. _

_I look down at our shoes. His new, clean kicks stand out next to my scuffed__,__ old ones. _

_"Why'd you do that, man?" I ask quietly, interrupting Tyler __and __looking Jasper in the eyes. I'm a few inches shorter than him, but right now I don't feel the height difference. Tyler stops talking and backs away, saying he's got to get home for dinner. Neither Jasper or I turn._

_He laughs, but his smile is off. "Do what?"_

_Bullshit. I just shake my head once._

_He stands there awkwardly for a second. "It's not a big deal. She's just a fucking chick, dude." _

_I'm grabbing my board so hard it hurts. "Then why did you do it?"_

_He laughs again, but I can tell he's annoyed now. "Wha__t,__ do you like, really like her or something, E?" I glare at him for that, and he relaxes a little. "Dude, have you ever even talked to her?" He says this like one of our teachers, like I'm a little kid. _

_My board hits the ground and my fist hits his face, one right after another. _

_I hear from Rose that he tells everyone his brother hit him while they were wrestling, but I'm just happy he doesn't claim it's from skateboarding. Poser._

_N__ot long after that I meet Jake and pretty much stop hanging out with people from school. Jake teaches me how to fill markers, where to buy paint and how to conceal five cans on my body at one time. He tries to teach me how to talk to girls and when that doesn't work he teaches me how to work a bra and what to do when I actually get my hand in a girl's pants. Turns out, talking isn't as important as you would think. _

_At first we just bomb anything and everything, and there's no skill to it. But after a few months I start copying big pieces that I see, working on my fade and shadow, developing my style. My first train piece sucks, but the boys come sit on the high bridge with me to watch it go by. I'm fourteen. _

_My dad dies later that month, and I break my left wrist hopping a fence. I'm just happy it wasn't my right. Now my mom wishes I would still skateboard. I land in juvie twice in as many months, but get off easy because my sentences get __pled__ down. Both times my public defender references my dead father, and it must be my mom telling them that because I don't talk about that shit. The second time I get out she tells me that it's my last chance. I sneak out that night and the next and on the third __night, __when I get home__, __she's gone. _

_When she said it was my last chance, I wish she would've told me that's what she meant. _

_She leaves a lot of shit behind, but the only thing I care about are the dog tags on my nightstand._

_

* * *

_

I got smarter about writing - and life - at some point. We all did. But sometimes I slip up, and that's why Esme has these rules on the fridge.

She doesn't like to call them "rules", though. She has a pretty relaxed view of life...I mean, she owns her own yoga studio. My dad used to call her a hippie, but not in a bad way. He just teased her a lot. They disagreed on everything from politics to nutrition, but at his funeral she was inconsolable. I didn't really get to that point until after my mom left, and then Esme was the one who got me through it. She knows me better than anyone else...even Jake and Rose.

So even though they aren't rules, or whatever, we wrote them on a large piece of my drawing paper and hung them on the fridge. We discuss them often. Esme loves a good debate and knows how to provoke me enough to get me to defend my position.

_1. Don't get arrested. _

Esme added and moved this rule to the front of the list the first time she bailed me out. She wrote it in all caps with one of my red markers. The paint drips in spots, like the title of a horror movie.

_2. No nudity of any kind outside of your own bedroom._

This used to be number one after I walked into Esme's boyfriend Carlisle on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He was buck naked. It was fucking wrong. So I actually made this rule but broke it twice in the last week. Bella. Fuck.

_3. No parties. _

My fault. Actually, it was _Rose's_ fault but by the time the cops showed up she was long gone.

_4. BYOB. _

I don't point this out to Jake, who's sitting in the living room right now drinking Esme's beer. He knows.

_5. Keep your cell phone charged and with you. Answer it._

Also my fault.

_6. Say what you mean._

She added this after she donated some of my dad's clothes that were sitting in storage and I lost it, even though I told her it was okay. I'm working on this one.

_7. Hugs, not drugs. _

No pills, no powders. Weed is fine as long as we go on the roof. This one is for Rose's benefit.

_8. _

Number eight remains blank, and has for a few months. When we add a rule we always write the number for the next one, like we're admitting that we'll fuck up again but that it's okay. Well, it's more like we're admitting that I'll fuck up again, but whatever.

Maybe eight rules don't seem like enough for someone like me, but I found out that the first rule covers a lot. It's the one that really matters. It's the one that keeps the can of spray paint out of my hand, and that seems to be the root of most of my problems.

Writing is its own kind of addiction. Not like Rose's, which takes her out of her life-it's the opposite. It's where I'm most real, the paint can an extension of me, covering the surface underneath in thick stripes. I used to spend hours poring over tips, testing different brands of paint for thickness, trying to find the kind with the least drips. We cased the train yards, sometimes planning out each footstep, and sometimes we just went out and found whatever we could. I've run from dogs, dodged security guards and sometimes cops...not always successfully. I've been in fights. I've sold drugs. I've worn an orange jumpsuit.

I'm a criminal first and an artist second, and even though I'm trying to get rid of the vandal, a part of me is lost without it. I fill sketchbooks and paint on canvases that Esme puts on the easel, but the brushes feel wrong in my hands and paper lacks the permanence that I need.

If I were a better person, I wouldn't miss the notoriety, but I do.

I try to explain it to Bella but struggle to find the words. Despite what people think about me, I'm not some broken person, and I'm not a prick or a player. I don't need to be fixed. I'm just fucking shy, and I don't like people all up in my business. I just keep my head down and do what I've been doing since I was a kid...ignoring them.

I couldn't ignore her, though.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye for six years. Rose knew, even though we never talked about it directly. Maybe it was because when Bella would show up at a party or find Rose during lunch while we were getting high behind the back building, I would struggle to just get out a simple hello ...even _I_ could hear the bitterness in my own voice. I didn't speak to her directly for years, and then when I did I called her a bitch and took her to my room and did things I'd been thinking about doing to her since before I knew how to do them.

"Dude. You gotta check this shit out!" Jake yells from where he's laying on the couch, facing the other direction. I turn and walk back to the couch, tossing his backpack out of the way so I can sit down. Even though they're probably muffled by a sweatshirt, I can hear the familiar rattle of the paint cans inside of it. He's watching reality TV, and there are crumbs all over the front of his black t-shirt. Pig. He catches me staring. "What?"

"Why you gotta be so messy on Esme's couch, J?"

He mimics me in a high-pitched voice and goes on a rant about how I'm a chick now because I've got a girlfriend and care about flowers and hygiene and shit.

"I always cared about hygiene, you dirty fucker," I say, looking pointedly at his shirt. I turn back to the TV, mumbling that I don't care about flowers.

"Yo, you need to get her flowers. Girls love that shit," he says seriously. I check his face for sincerity, and he is. My brow furrows. I'm gonna have to run that past Esme. Maybe Bella does want flowers.

That's one thing I didn't have to think about with Leah or any of the other chicks I dated in the past. There was an understanding that it was temporary. We didn't go on dates, or hold hands, or talk about...anything. Well, they talked but I didn't, which is probably why none of it worked out. With Bella, though, I don't mind the stuff that I used to hate. My stomach does that thing that it does when I think about her.

Jake sits up, brushing the crumbs on the floor. Asshole. He leans his elbows on his knees, and I turn back to the TV before he starts talking because I know what he's going to say.

"Where's Rose been at, bro?" He doesn't mean today - or even this week - he means in a bigger sense. They've been doing this for years; they hook up for a while, do their own thing but eventually find their way back together. This time it's taking Rose longer than usual to ditch the new guy. If Jake knew who it was... I stop myself from thinking what might happen.

"You know Rose. She's around," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"See, that's bullshit right there. Last time we hung out she wouldn't even touch me." He's looking away from me.

I'm gonna have to lie, which fucking pisses me off, but she'd do it for me. She _has _done it for me. "I don't know, man, maybe she's doing pills again." I know for a fact that she's taking pills, and that she's fucking Emmett McCarty daily, and hate the way I feel after I tell the lie.

He pulls out his phone, probably to text her, and I pretend I'm watching the stupid show that he's got on. I love Rose but there are some parts of her that are so twisted and have been for so long that I can't remember when I first noticed it. She acts like she's so carefree, but she's really just lost. I can tell that Bella might be starting to see it that way but that it's coming to her slowly. After she found out about Emmett, they didn't talk for a few days. Rose's guard is up, even with me. It doesn't help that I told her she needed to let Jake go. She told me to fuck off and that she and Jake were just messing around...she even went as far as to say that there's nothing to let go of.

Both of us know that's not true. The proof is sitting on my couch, staring at his silent phone.

Esme shows up and yells at Jake about the beer. She smacks him on the back of the head, but somehow he sweet-talks her into making both of us sandwiches . I get up to help but she makes me sit back down. She ruffles Jake's hair as she hands him a plate and then mine, too.

"Thanks, Es," we mumble, our mouths full. She laughs from the kitchen.

Later I'll tell her about my conversation with Jake.

* * *

Bella's dad scares the shit out of me. I can tell he doesn't like me but she said he wasn't really a fan of Jasper either, so at least I know it's not the fact that I don't wear a letter jacket. I can respect the fact that he just doesn't want someone sleeping with his daughter, at least.

Her mom takes a while to warm up but when she does I almost wish she didn't like me, too. She asks me questions all the time and even though I see Bella give her looks, the woman is relentless. I think she wants to figure me out.

Not the first time someone's tried that, and I'm usually okay at deflecting it but if I want to be with Bella, I can't tell her to fuck off.

It only takes her about a month to ask me the question that I've been waiting for. Her dad is gone for the night and we're having dinner with her mom. I'm sitting on my usual stool in the kitchen, watching the two of them cook and bicker. It's actually really...comforting, I guess.

"So Edward, tell me, why is it that you live with your aunt?"

I'm looking down at my hands when she asks, but I see Bella freeze out of the corner of my eye.

"Mom," she says, and when I look up she looks horrified. The question is loaded, because there's no way Bella didn't tell her my dad died and that my mom left...so I assume she wants to know the details.

"Naw," I say, clearing my throat. "I mean, no, it's okay."

Bella looks down but doesn't move to keep stirring the sauce she's making. It occurs to me that maybe she wants to hear my answer, too.

I can't look at them while I talk. "My dad was killed by an IED in Afghanistan." I fight the urge to reach up and touch where the dog tags lay against my chest. "My mom took off a while after that."

It's quiet, and when I finally do look up, her mom is clasping her chest, tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she says quietly.

I'm afraid she going to try and hug me or something, so I say I have to use the bathroom and just go stare in the mirror. Sometimes I wonder if everyone does that - stares at themselves, trying to relate how you feel inside with the face in the mirror.

What no one knows is that my dad was gone for a long time before he got killed. I loved him but, by that time, I didn't really know him. I pull out the dog tags, holding the metal between my fingers until it warms.

When I get back to the kitchen, they pretend that the conversation didn't happen but I can tell Bella's eyes are red, and I think she might have cried while I was gone. Her mom smiles but there's pity in her face now.

After dinner we're supposed to go meet Rose, but I'm not in the mood. I'm sitting on her bed while she digs through a pile of clothes, throwing shit around while she looks for a shirt she's set on wearing.

"I swear I left it right here," she says, irritated.

"Hey, I think I'm gonna just head home," I say, bracing myself for her reaction. I could've told her this ten minutes ago before she started getting ready, but I knew she was going to be upset and she keeps looking at me like she wants to say something but then decides not to.

She turns to look at me and then gets up. "Is this about what my mom said? I'm so sorry, she's so fucking nosy and-"

"No, it's fine." I try to find somewhere to focus my gaze other than her face, but she told me last week that I don't make eye contact enough so I find her eyes.

She takes a few steps closer, and waits.

"I just..." I can't take it and look down, but take a breath and look back up again. "I just don't feel like going out."

"We can stay here. Or I can come over." It's a question. I shake my head and she's the one to look away this time, chewing on her thumb nail. After a minute she drops her hand and turns back. "Don't shut me out, Edward," she says quietly.

"I'm not," I say, but it's defensive, and I see her waver between annoyance and acceptance because she thinks it's her mom's fault. And maybe her mom shouldn't have brought it up but in the end, I should be able to talk about that shit without feeling like I want to run the fuck away. I just can't.

I get up, but when I get to her she's tearing up. _Fuck._

"No," I say, and wipe away the tear that falls while she looks off to the side. Her arms are crossed over her chest. I wrap my arms around her even though she doesn't move for a minute. When she does her lips find mine and she pulls off my hat to run her fingers through my hair. Her hips press forward and she backs up, searching my face.

"Closet," she whispers.

I should stop her, but right then I don't give a fuck that her mom is downstairs and could walk in at any moment. She grabs my hand and pulls me backwards with a look on her face that I love. It tells me she's in control and that she wants me and all of my shit ...and that she's about to make me feel really, really good.

When she closes the door behind us and shuts off the lights, a nightlight glows from an outlet so I can barely see the outline of her face before she's on me, running her hands up my chest and down to my belt, fumbling at it with her lips still on mine. I don't even get her shirt off when she drops to her knees.

And I want to tell her to wait but the second I'm in her mouth I can't think, and I look down and watch her hand move with her mouth. She pauses to flip her hair to one side and looks up at me, smiling, before sliding her hand up and down and kissing the head. I moan and she shushes me while she strokes, and then it's warm and wet and so fucking good that I don't care about anything else for five minutes. Just five minutes.

I get her jeans undone and now I'm on my knees, kissing my way down past her hips, but we hear her mom come upstairs and have to stop. She makes me promise to do it tomorrow and I have no problem agreeing to that. We kiss by the front door and I'm afraid she's going to bring up her mom again, but she doesn't. She just tells me to call her tomorrow.

Before I walk away, I have the strongest urge to tell her I love her, but we don't say that. In fact, the only person I've said that to in the last few years is Esme.

"I really love the flowers," she says. I just smile. They're from a florist, all purple, blue and white. Not even one rose.

I get in the car and I'm a few blocks away when I call. "You going out?"

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**Thank you for reading! You guys are just wonderful. **

**Also, chapter updates will be a little inconsistent for the next few weeks. I'm going to aim for Fridays but might not always make it. I'll do my best to keep everyone informed on twitter, and I thank you for your patience! (at)sweetlolapop**

**xoxo**


	6. Cubic Zirconia

**Hello, friends! **

**Thank you to my beta, ShearEnvy, who is always accomodating, always kind, and is very pretty. Many spanks to my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante, who keep me from spazzing out. They are also very pretty.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

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"You're making unwise choices, Bella," my father says, pointing his fork at me.

I'm not hungry so I push food around on my plate, taking small bites. We don't do this often. It's rare that all three of us are home at the same time and even if we are, I don't often see my father outside of his study.

I don't feel that closeness that I've always assumed people were supposed to have with their parents. Maybe it's just a myth. For the most part I feel like we hardly know each other at all.

Family decisions in our house are made pragmatically, not emotionally, and if it seems like it's veering in the wrong direction, my father simply removes himself from the equation. My mom is nosy and opinionated, but even with her somehow it still feels like we just brush the surface. This wasn't something that used to bother me, but for some reason it does now.

He's been lecturing me for the last ten minutes on obligation and following through, so clearly my mom told him that I'm thinking about staying here for school. When I finally meet her eyes it's to glare at her. She doesn't really look that sorry.

All I want to do is put my head in my hands, but he won't be having any of my "dramatics" as he likes to call them. I can't yell, I can't stomp around and an eye roll will set him off an a tangent. I'm expected to present my case in a calm and rational matter. Unfortunately, I'm a fucking teenager, so all I want to do is yell, stomp around and roll my eyes.

He finally pauses, waiting for my rebuttal. I take a deep breath and compose my thoughts. He sees this and gives me a minute, one thing I actually _do _appreciate about our interactions.

"I realize that I'm not following the plan that we laid out, but I think I deserve the chance to change my mind." He nods. "San Diego is a good school, but the only reason I wanted to go there was because of Jasper." His jaw sets at that admission. He never really cared for Jasper, in large part because he didn't see Jasper as an intellectual and didn't think that he valued me for the right reasons.

Rightfully so, I suppose.

I continue. "I'm not proud of that, but I've done a lot of changing in the last few months, and I think I've got more direction and I'm more independent than I was before. So, I'd like to stay here if I can still be accepted for enrollment." The local state college is both a respected school and his undergrad alma mater, so there's a good chance that he won't fight me too hard on this.

He leans back in his chair, wine glass in hand. "As I see it, you're just following another young man on his path." I don't flinch.

"I don't see it that way."

"Explain."

I take another deep breath. "I've spent my entire life doing what other people wanted me to do, and I'm not blaming anyone but myself for not taking the initiative to make my own choices, but I want that to change. I _need_ that to change." His chin tips up. He's going to say yes. "I'm smart, capable, and I think I can excel at whichever school I attend."

His fingers drum the glass, and he looks at my mother. This is how things go in my family. Very little drama. She nods at him and then smiles at me.

"I'll make a call," he says finally, setting down his glass and picking up his fork again. I go back to picking at my food. He addresses me again a few minutes later. "You would make a fine attorney, Bella. You should consider law school."

I give him a small smile because coming from him, that's quite a compliment. They're few and far between with my father. His answering smile is brief but genuine.

My mom and I don't discuss it futher, but while we're cleaning up in the kitchen she clears her throat and says, "I'm glad you're staying close to home."

I think I am, too.

* * *

I'm not surprised that Emmett calls for help with Rose, I'm just surprised it took this long. This is what being friends with her is like. He sounds upset, but I can't gauge the seriousness of the situation. I've learned that with Rose, it's best to underreact initially. Sometimes she just does shit ... shit that doesn't make sense. People who aren't used to it don't always know how to handle her.

Edward and I are watching a movie with Esme and Carlisle, but when I get off the phone I have to say is "Rose" before Esme waves us off.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who's been subject to her shenanigans.

We don't talk on the way to his car, but Edward has been quiet lately. I mean, he's always quiet, but for some reason it feels different now. I don't know how to bring it up, though. It's hard enough for us to communicate about actual, real-life issues, let alone some intangible gut feeling that I have but can't really put into words.

I'm about to try when someone yells "Yo, E!" from across the street. Jake is coming out of the record store, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders.

He waits for a car to pass and jogs over. "Hey, I was just about to stop over." They do a handshake and Jake grins at me before turning back to Edward. "Can I get a ride to Sam's?"

Edward rubs his neck and glances at me. Jake looks between us. "What?" he asks.

"We're on our way to get Rose," Edward answers.

"Cool. So, can you drop me off after?"

I stare at my hand on the door handle to avoid Jake's gaze.

"Oh. Fuckin'…I get it. She's with that guy, right?" There's a long pause. "Hit me up later, E. I'm gettin' up tonight. See you around, Bella." When I look up he's walking back across the street. Edward watches him for a minute, and then turns and gets in the car.

I get in and buckle my seatbelt. I don't need to ask about Jake and Rose...I have a pretty clear read on that situation. My next question is embarrassing, though.

"What's 'getting up'?"

We pull up to a light, but he doesn't look over at me even though we're stopped. "Writing...tagging."

"Are you doing that again?"

I can tell from the look on his face that he is and have to suppress a combination of anger and arousal. I totally get how fucked up that is but... whatever.

"How long?"

He answers reluctantly, meeting my eyes before turning back to the road. "Few weeks."

I think about that. For a few weeks he's been going out in the middle of the night, doing something that he's made clear is dangerous. And he did all this without even telling me. I stare out the window.

I am so fucking tired of feeling naive.

"Hey," he says, reaching over to touch my hand before he has to shift again.

"Can we talk about this later?" I say, still looking out the window. The more I think about it, the more hurt I am, and the less I feel like being in this car right now.

An omission is a lie-a silent lie, but a lie nonetheless. He doesn't say anything, and I don't turn to see the look on his face.

He lied to me. He lied to Esme. I wonder if Rose knows and my heart sinks thinking that she might have and didn't tell me.

My anger diffuses with Emmett's next text, though, and worry kicks in.

_Please hurry._

My stomach aches, but I'm not sure from which situation.

As we get closer to Rose's the houses get bigger and the streets wider, large trees form a canopy over the street. The only car in her driveway is Emmett's. Her parents must be out of town, because the grass needs to be mowed and there are three newspapers on the front steps.

The front door swings open, and Emmett stands there, pale and obviously upset.

"Where is she?" Edward asks, concerned now that he's seen Emmett's face.

"Her room," Emmett chokes out, stepping out of the way with his eyes on the ground.

Edward jogs up the stairs, but I stay with Emmett. "What happened?"

"Something's up with her parents. Like, the gas is shut off and so is the cable," he admits, his brow furrowed. "She said this morning some guy towed away two of her dad's cars and her mom locked herself in the bathroom."

He sheepishly points at the table in the foyer where their mail always sits. The envelope on top is from a law firm and the bills under it say "urgent" and "final notice" and "open immediately". All of them are unopened. "Shit," I say under my breath. "Have you seen her dad?"

He shakes his head. "I've never even met him. We only come here once in a while."

I walk around, taking everything in. It occurs to me that I haven't been here in maybe two months. We used to hang out here all the time but now she comes over to my house a lot. Guilt takes up residence in my chest. I should have noticed.

They're obviously not having the house cleaned anymore. The fridge is practically empty and the back porch is full of paper bags stuffed with empty wine bottles. Emmett trails after me, and seems like he's seeing some of this for the first time, too. Rose can be good at deflecting people's attention, and I wonder what she did to distract him. It's not hard to imagine.

Upstairs, the bedroom door to the master suite is shut tight but Rose's is wide open. Her room is huge, but it was decorated when she was a kid, so the walls are baby blue and the furniture is all white. This contrasts with the posters she has hung up all over, most of them dark; one of them is a giant eye that looks over her room. It looks especially ominous today, unblinking and omniscent.

Rose is curled up with her head on Edward's chest. He rubs her back slowly. She's only wearing a t-shirt and underwear, her hair is tangled and there's dark makeup streaked down her face. I sit down behind her and put my chin on her shoulder. She cries harder.

I whisper in her ear. "It's okay, Rose. Everything is going to be okay. We're here." Emmett stands in the doorway, lost. After a minute he sits in the chair across from us, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the floor.

"He's under investigation by some medical board," she says after a minute. "He got fired from the clinic almost a year ago." It looks like this is news to all three of us. Emmett's eyes widen.

"Did you know?" I mouth to Edward. He shakes his head.

I can't believe she's been living with this for so long and didn't tell me. I can't believe I didn't see it.

She quiets after a while and sits up, wiping her face off with her hands.

"Fuck," she says, and I get a look at the dark circles under her eyes. Her pupils are dilated and there's alcohol on her breath. She sort of comes to, looking around at all of us. "Sorry," she says quietly. We all shake our heads, and she sighs, getting up and opening a drawer on her vanity. Her long, thin legs have a few bruises and she's fucked up and tired, but she's beautiful regardless. She takes a pull of a bottle of something brown, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her eyes travel slowly around the room. "Look at all this shit." Her voice is low and rough. She pauses, wiping her eyes. "It's just _shit_. I would give it all back..." She doesn't finish that thought. "He's not answering his phone, and they just keep showing up and taking things..." She squeezes her eyes shut like she can stop seeing this and it might go away. "I've gotta get out of here."

Emmett stands and she meets his eyes. "Em," she says quietly. He walks to her and wraps her up in his arms.

Edward and I stare. I've never seen her like this—this _vulnerable_. And on top of that, with Emmett, not me. From the look on Edward's face, he's thinking the same thing. Emmett whispers into her hair, pulling her tighter against his chest. I fight tears.

"Can she stay at your house?" Edward asks under his breath, and I nod. I stand up to find a bag, throwing in whatever I can find. Rose breaks their hug and sips at the bottle, daring any of us, with her eyes, to say something. We stay silent.

"Here," I say, handing Emmett a pair of jeans. He steadies her while she pulls them on. When I go get her toothbrush, I glance over the orange pill bottles lining the shelf in the bathroom. Most of the prescriptions here are legitimate, given to her by M. Hale, M.D.- better known as Michael Hale, her father. Prozac, lorazepam, Wellbutrin… I stare at the line wondering which of these she actually takes until Edward walks up behind me. "She's gonna check on her mom before we leave."

We wait in the hallway while Rose knocks on the bedroom door.

She doesn't answer, not that I think any of us anticipated she would. Rose enters and we hear another knock a few seconds later.

"Mom?" There's a long pause. "Mom, I'm going to Bella's..." Another long pause. "Mom?" She's crying again. I leave Emmett and Edward and follow Rose in.

The room is a fucking disaster; every surface is covered with papers and bottles - clothes hang from chairs and doorknobs and sit in piles on the floor. It's dimly lit from one lamp in the corner, but the light in the bathroom is on, sihouetting the door. I picture her mother, pale, shaky and dazed, probably curled up in herself in there, all alone. I know it's terrible, but I'm angry. Rose shouldn't be on the other side of this closed door.

"Just tell me you're okay," she pleads.

I can tell Rose senses me but she doesn't turn. We both stand still, waiting, and hear the brittle sound of a glass being set down on tile.

She breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling and kicks the door once. I grab her arm to pull her back but she turns and wrenches it out of my grasp. With her palms flat against the door and her face pressed against it she yells, "Don't you even _fucking care_?"

Despite her anger, she pauses for a response, resting her forehead against the door. But she's met with only silence. She kicks the door again, hard, before pushing off of it, turning and walking out with tears on her face again. I follow, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

* * *

Rose is curled up on my bed but doesn't protest when I get her up and pull her into the bathroom. She strips down to her underwear and steps into the hot water, sitting with her chin on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs. I put in extra bubbles and run a little more water so they grow, threatening to spill over the tub.

"Coming in?" she asks after a minute. I shrug out of my hoodie, jeans and t-shirt when I see the look on her face. I mirror her position, and there's something comforting and familiar about this. It's something we've always done…been able to face each other like this.

Bubbles pop around us, in my ears and in front of my face as we stare at each other. I wish I had the words to say to her that would make this better.

"Emmett," I say after a minute.

"I know," she says, almost like she's admitting a wrong. I hope she stops seeing it like that soon.

"It's for real, huh?"

She nods slowly, tearing up. Her voice comes out high and thin. "I just hope he still likes me after this."

I smile at that. "He will, Rose. Emmett is one of the best guys I know."

She laughs, bringing a soapy hand up to wipe off her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry."

She nods, but I don't think she gets what I mean.

"I should've known something was up. I'm sorry I didn't try harder..."

Her eyes find mine again. "I should've told you." She means it.

"What does it feel like?" I ask.

She sighs, resting her chin on her knees. "It feels like... flat champagne. Chipped manicures. Cubic zirconia."

I smile, because I know exactly what she means. My smile falls. I should've known.

She looks at me, frowning. "Are you and Edward fighting?" We had an awkward goodbye when he and Emmett dropped us off. It felt like the old days.

"Not really. I don't know." It seems petty in comparison to what she's dealing with.

"Please tell me. I need to think about something else." She looks so sad, so I dive right in, giving her the minute details and rehashing the last month looking for clues. She didn't know, but she doesn't seem surprised.

After I'm done she considers it for a minute. "What they do shouldn't be illegal."

"But it is."

"But it shouldn't be."

"But it _is. _So what if he ends up in jail? What then?"

"He's smarter than that."

I don't doubt that, but it isn't really the point. The words spill out. "I'm sick of feeling like he's got this whole part of his life that I can't understand because I'm too sheltered, and my family has money, and I haven't done enough or seen enough or lived enough. I can't help that, and it would be one thing if he was done with it and it was in the past, but he's going out and doing all these things and lying to me. It's like he's two people, and I can't know one of them." I pause, slowing my breathing. My outburst was more intense than I intended. "I don't know what to do."

She thinks for a minute before she answers. "You should ask him to take you out with him."

My laugh is laced with sarcasm. "Like he would actually do that."

She shakes her head. "Probably not willingly, but you've got a lot of pull over that kid."

"You've got a lot of pull over Emmett," I say in response.

Her head shakes slowly back and forth. "He's definitely wearing the pants."

That makes me laugh out loud. "Rose, there has never been a relationship in which you weren't wearing the pants."

For some reason, that makes her sober, and I can see I hit a nerve somewhere. I don't ask where, or why, because some things just don't need to be discussed. Not today.

"Turn around. I'll wash your hair." She does, settling between my legs. I wash, rinse and then comb conditioner through her long blonde hair. When she starts to cry again I wrap my arms around her from behind and we cry together.

We don't stay up late or drink or get high. We fall asleep with wet hair, each wearing a pair of my flannel pajamas.

* * *

The next morning I tell my parents what's going on, and they agree that Rose can stay with us if she needs to. Our parents aren't really in the same social circles but know each other by reputation. Maybe that's why my dad doesn't look very surprised. They probably have mutual golf buddies.

When I get back upstairs Rose is still sleeping, draped across my bed, diagonally, on her back. I text both Edward and Emmett to see if they want to meet for coffee at the shop by Edward's house. Only Edward responds.

_We'll meet you there in an hour._

We?

I move one of Rose's arms over and wake her up, sharing her pillow while I show her the text.

She squints to read it. "It's official. It's the fucking apocalypse." She looks a little better today. The dark circles aren't as bad, and her eyes aren't stoned and distant like they have been.

"Rose?" I ask, staring at her while she rubs sleep out of her eyes and yawns.

"What." It's not a question. She's not much of a morning person.

"How about today..." She stops rubbing and brings her arms down, her eyes focused on the ceiling. "...you stay sober."

"'Kay," she says reluctantly, after a minute. I pull her into a hug while she grumbles, but her arms wrap around me, too.

* * *

Sure enough, Edward and Emmett walk into the coffee shop together. Rose eyes them over her mug, one eyebrow raised.

They look rough, both have stubble and bleary eyes. Edward tastes like toothpaste but under that, whiskey.

"Are you hung over?" I ask, watching Emmett greet Rose with a kiss, smiling when she does. They whisper a few words and she laughs when he slumps forward on the table, head in his hands.

"Nope. Still drunk," Edward says, his expression uncharacteristically open and happy.

"Word," Emmett says, his voice muffled.

Rose and I exchange a glance. "So, you're, like, friends now?" I ask.

They turn to each other, both frowning, but then Emmett pulls down the brim of Edward's hat and Edward mimes punching him in the stomach. Rose and I watch, brows furrowed.

"Yep. Still drunk," I say.

"It's an unholy union," she says, shaking her head.

"The fucking apocalypse." I repeat her earlier words, smiling.

Esme is working today, so we decide to watch movies at the loft. We stop to get Gatorade and greasy food for the boys first, though. Edward grabs my hand while we walk, grinning at me. I forget to be mad at him, and yesterday's weirdness is gone for the moment.

No matter how hard I try, I can't imagine what kinds of alcohol-fueled conversations that Edward and Emmett must have had last night, but in that time they developed not only their own inside jokes, but also a complicated handshake.

I watch Rose take on a very different role, taking care of Emmett. Again, Edward and I try not to stare while she runs her fingers through his hair and teases him, gazing at him when he's not looking. I don't see her take a drink or pop a pill all afternoon and while that doesn't mean she didn't take anything, at the very least she doesn't seem fucked up. She smiles a lot more than a person in her situation typically would, but I can see the stress and regret behind it - not to mention a lot other things that are probably too heavy for me to even understand.

But it's good here, and it feels warm and safe.

Everyone falls asleep but me, and I relax in the quiet, going over the last twenty four hours in my head. I see the blank canvas on the easel in the corner, put there by a hopeful Esme, and it reminds me that I should be angry. When I look back at him dozing next to me, I just can't bring myself to care, though. Not right now. Instead, I kiss his lips and run my thumb over his stubble, watching his eyelids twitch. I put my head on his warm chest and his hand automatically comes to press on my lower back. I concentrate on his breathing, slowing mine to fit his, and drift off.

I wake up to a buzzing in my ear. It's getting dark out, and the TV is on but silent. Edward pulls his phone out and stares at the screen. It's Jake. He doesn't move, not silencing it or sending it to voicemail, just watching it ring through. Rose and Emmett are still asleep, his heavy arm over her waist.

_You have one missed call._

Edward looks at me, guilt plain on his face. We're going to have to deal with all of this very soon. And not just this..._everything_.

Prom is in a week. Graduation in just over a month. They're things that at one time seemed monumental, looming in the distance - the culmination of everything that we worked for up to this point. Now I can't figure out why I thought any of it was so important. Edward asked me if I wanted to go to prom, and I said no. If there was any way I could skip graduation, I would. It feels like this chapter has already been written, and I'm just biding time to get to the next.

I just hope whatever comes next is good.

* * *

**This hectic schedule only lasts a few more weeks, and then I'll be all up in yo bidness once again, but I appreciate your patience and understanding! **

**Thank you for reading! You guys make this fun. **


	7. It Was a Good Day

**Happy Sunday, pals! **

**Thank you to my very cool, very pretty, very smart beta ShearEnvy, and to my girls stephk0525 and ilsuocantante, who are the best prereaders a gal could have. I love you all! **

**In the endnotes I'll define a few terms for those who are interested!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**

* * *

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"What's in the bag?"

I stop, hanging my head and taking a breath before turning to face Esme. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen, in the dark.

She knows what's in the fucking bag.

I can hardly look at her, so she slides off the counter and walks over to stand in front of me, her hands on her hips. Half of her face is in shadow, the other half is lit with ambient light from the orange street lights outside. She grabs my chin roughly, forcing me to look her in the eye. "What are you doing?" This question spans time and space. It's not even just one question, it's ten. She looks scared and angry, and more like my father than she ever has before.

My first instinct is to push her hand away, and I do, but more gently than I would if she were anyone else.

I stop on the landing when the door slams shut behind me, the sound bouncing off the concrete. The lock clicks a few seconds later and then it's just me and the ugly, buzzing florescent lights.

What _am _I doing? I consider turning around but the need to write wins out, like it usually does. Plus, Jake and I have a plan tonight. We've been scoping out a way into a live train yard and he's sure he's got it covered. We'll have a few hours between when the guards come out to walk the lines, and if we hit the right one it'll run through the city during rush hour tomorrow. Luckily for us, the guard that has this night shift is lazy and usually skips one of his rounds to take a nap.

The city cracked down on security in the 90's, but over time they've gotten lax. There are holes in fencing, lights out and broken cameras. We'll get away with it, but this shit is still risky.

It's been two years since my last piece rolled. People say I fell off - that I'm scared and only do throw ups and don't have the balls to do a top to bottom. It doesn't help that Leah keeps bombing over anything of mine that she finds. I put up a fresh piece in lowertown last week that she wrote over the next night. When I see her ass we're gonna have words. Keying my car is one thing, but calling me a toy all over the city is something else altogether...even if I know why she's doing it.

As soon as I duck into the alley so I can meet Jake a few blocks away, cloaked by the dark and my hoodie, I feel better.

Until I think about Bella. Shit is fucked up, and it's my fault. I stop and hit a drain pipe with a marker. Usually I don't do anything so close to home because Esme knows every name I go by. I should probably hide my sketchbooks, but that almost feels more dishonest than what I'm already doing.

I should have told Esme the truth.

Rose called me on both that and not telling Bella - for making her guess. You'd think the girl has so much going on that she wouldn't have time to come over and yell at me, but she made it a priority. She didn't judge the fact that I'm writing again, because that's not Rose's style, but she did say that I need to let Bella in if I want her to stick around.

And I really, really want her to stick around.

I convinced her to meet me in a few hours when the sun comes up. Things aren't that good right now but I need her to see me. I need to make her understand.

Jake's gonna be pissed when he finds out I'm not letting him come to the bench. The bench is where writers meet up because you can see two of the main train lines from that spot. Usually I would want everyone to be there, but today I just want her.

I find him at the corner we planned to meet at and we walk the mile to get to the yard. The buses don't run frequently at this time of night. Neither of us talk much, which is good. He's had about a week to deal with the news that Rose is with Emmett for real now. I was just relieved that she told him herself. We've had enough conversations about it as it is. He's pissed that I don't hate Emmett, but the kid is seriously impossible to dislike. I tried.

I'm just happy that Rose is okay and happy, and I think Jake gets that.

A siren sounds in the distance and both of us jump. Once we're there and painting, I'll get into my head and won't be this nervous, but for now I run through the plan in my head over and over to keep my mind off of cops and sirens and handcuffs.

I think about Bella. I think about her taste and her smooth skin under my fingers. I think about drawing her, how I would shade her hips and the curve of her waist. I think about what I want to tell her when she gets to the bench and try not to focus on what her reaction might be, but just the part where I get the words out. Because that is going be hard enough on its own.

We're a block from the yard before I'm ready. I pull a bandanna out of my back pocket and tie it around the lower part of my face. Jake follows suit, and we walk with our heads down in case a car comes by while we're walking, not that it's likely in this neighborhood at this time of night.

Jake clipped a section of the fence with wire cutters a few nights ago so we can slip in easily.

There's this smell that is totally unique to the yards. It's metallic and electric, and it instantly focuses me. We move down the lines silently until we get to the car we want. It's on the second track so it'll pull out early, and by the time they see the piece it'll be too late. The camera in this corner is busted, and the guard tower is at the other end of the fence. For a second we just stare at it. These cars are new, which doesn't happen often in this lot, and probably won't last long.

"Pristine," Jake says, shaking his head. "Damn."

I pull out the sketch for him to look over, but I don't need it. I've been redrawing this one for the last few months, even before I knew I would do it. We pull out our cans and caps and I start the outline, left to right. He's doing my fill-ins so we can get it done faster, but it's something we've been doing together for years and we move around each other easily. I have to get on his shoulders for a few spots at the top, and I'm not a little guy, but the kid is built like a building so he doesn't care.

One of the reasons I'm back here doing this is because of him. Jake understood when I quit, because my probation was harsh and he didn't want me to end up in juvie, but when that was over he started really questioning why I wasn't going out anymore. Writing isn't something that people stop doing willingly. It's rooted in territory and defiance. The fact that it's illegal is what makes it what it is. He's down with the murals and legal walls, but only as a compliment to the street. There are a lot of people out there with the same attitude that he has.

The only sounds is the whoosh of paint from the cap and the clanking of the mixer in the can. We hardly need words. A few times Jake will stop me, holding up a hand and listening, both of us frozen for a minute but no one comes. It's filled, shaded and I'm putting my signature in the corner when the motion-sensor floodlight about a hundred yards from us snaps on, making it hard to see after hours of standing in the dark.

The guard is doing his rounds.

Jake already packed the paint and I pick up my bag carefully, making sure it's silent. One clank of a can against another and we're done. The city is still asleep and silent.

We walk on the rail that runs between the rows. I can hear the scuff of shoes on concrete about a car away and we freeze, waiting for him to pass us. I don't breathe. When his footsteps recede we duck between cars and have to wait him out so we can cut through the yard to get out the way we came in. We're almost there when we hear him yell.

"God _damn_ it!"

I can tell Jake is smiling under his bandanna. I'm not.

The sun rises while we walk, turning the sky purple, then pink, then orange. We replay every moment of the night, high on getting away with it. We stop at the coffee shop, and even though we wore gloves so our hands aren't stained, the girl at the counter eyes the errant sprays of color on my sweatshirt sleeves. She bites her lip and looks me up and down while I try to ignore her.

Jake eats two donuts and finishes a Mountain Dew before I finish paying and we hit the sidewalk. Outside I start walking to my car to go meet Bella, he follows.

"Dude," I start, "so I'm just gonna meet Bella at the bench."

He laughs. "What? Everyone's gonna be there."

I stop, my shoulders sagging. "Who did you tell?"

"You kidding me? E hits a train for real and you don't think people are gonna want to see this shit live?"

"Fuck."

He shakes his head. "I know you're into this chick...I mean..._obviously_." He gestures toward the paint on his sweatshirt. "But since when do you not want the crew to come out?"

"It's not like that-"

"It _is_ like that, though. You're different, kid." I can hear the pain in his voice. I think he feels left behind- by me, by Rose...

The way he's looking at me makes me uncomfortable, so I start walking again and get in the car. He gets into the passenger seat and turns the music up loud enough that we don't have to talk. I love how even though he's mad at me, he won't pass up the chance to get a ride.

When we get to the park, I notice the sun is up over the horizon and check my watch. We've got about ten minutes. Bella's not there yet. I text her but she doesn't answer. A bunch of the guys are up there already, including my crew. I know most of them, but there are a few young kids that I haven't seen around before. Two of the "kings" are there, guys that were writing when I was still in diapers. One of them, Felix, I haven't seen in years. The younger kids listen while we catch up, telling stories about pieces that are long gone.

"What are you going by?" he asks, meaning what name I'm using.

"It's still Reign," I answer. "But this piece" I nod toward the tracks, "is Bella."

Felix looks me over, nodding. "I've seen that shit you've been doin'. It's wild." Coming from Felix, that's high praise.

"Thanks, man."

I don't see Bella until Jake catcalls at her, his voice echoing across the park. He and I meet eyes and he smiles. Jake's like that. He gets over shit fast.

"Bella, huh?" Felix asks, following my gaze. I shrug sheepishly but he just punches my shoulder, smiling.

She waves and I meet her halfway, far enough away so they can't hear me.

She smiles, her eyes still sleepy. "What's going on?"

"Got somethin' to show you." We walk to the bench. Someone is smoking weed, and a few people have their books out, showing off new designs. The guys that don't know her look her up and down, nodding approvingly when I tell them her name. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't get a chance to ask me any questions.

"Aw shit, there it is!" Jake yells, pointing and jumping before he remembers the camera in his hands. He's getting video. Everyone stands, moving closer to the edge of the hill that overlooks the city, getting worked up when it comes fully into view.

Hands clap me on the back and the boys yell out praise, but all I do is watch her. In fact I'll have to watch it on tape later, because I missed most of it. She squints and then her eyes widen and her jaw drops. We get a good thirty seconds of the clear view and she follows it the whole way with her eyes until it disappears.

The group moves away from us slowly, maybe watching me watch her and seeing that I'm having a fucking moment here.

Her hair is streaked gold from the sun, her cheeks pink. I want to tell her I love her, but we're standing with a group of fifteen guys that expect me to be...not the kind of guy who notices that her hair is streaked gold from the sun.

"Let's get out of here," I say, and she smiles, slipping her hand into mine.

* * *

We ditch school, which is her idea. She picks where we go, which is how we end up at the caves by the river. I groan when we get there but she tells me she wants to show me something, so I follow her in. This is where the jocks throw keggers on weekends. There is graffiti of a different kind-stupid shit carved into the soft limestone, the ground littered with beer cans, broken glass and cigarette butts.

She looks around while we walk, her gaze sometimes lingering on a spot in the hollowed out darkness. I don't ask. I'm sure I don't want to know. Something about this place gives me the creeps, and this is coming from a kid who has navigated pitch black subway tunnels. It feels like ghosts live here, and they're the worst kind ...the kind that haunt you because they were part of something that you weren't.

She finds my hand and I let that thought fade out. I don't need to feel this way anymore.

It's a labyrinth, but I trust her, so I don't ask where we're going or why.

"Watch your head," she says, leading me through a low opening out into the light. I have to squint for a minute to let my eyes adjust, but I can see we're on a huge, solid boulder that juts out of the side of the cliffs over the river. It's solid, marbled with thick white and grey, unlike the cave. Over that are thousands of initials, hearts and plus signs in spray paint and marker. The closer you get to the edge, the more sparse the writing is. It drops at least a hundred feet down. Maybe more.

"Lovers rock," she says, watching me look it over. "Dumbest name ever, but I've always liked this place. Rose and I used to come here and try to guess whose initials were whose. And the view..." she smiles, taking it in. It's starting to get almost hot these days, and she unzips her sweatshirt and lays it out on the ground behind her so she can sit and lean against the rock.

I sit next to her, marvelling at how different this is than what I'm used to. My life is concrete and metal. Sometimes I forget that there is more to this city. The breeze feels different. I hear birds and rustling leaves. I close my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I say.

I hear her shift, but she doesn't say anything.

"I should've told you what I was doing. It wasn't fair and you deserve better."

"I do," she says quietly.

It's not how I wanted to say it but I'm not so sure that matters anymore. "Iloveyou." It comes out pressed together, like one word.

After a minute of silence I open my eyes, focusing on the tops of the trees in the distance. Finally I look to where she's sitting with her head bowed, eyes closed, smiling. I can't take it. "What?"

Her head snaps up to look at me, and when she sees my face her smile widens. "I'm sorry, I just...like the way that sounds." She reaches up, her grin falling, and swallows hard. "I love you, too." Her fingers run over my face and her gaze lingers on mine. "And the train was so perfect," she says, hesitating to qualify that statement, "but it scares me."

I want to reassure her but I know the only way I could do that is by lying.

"What about Esme?"

I wince. My Achilles heel. "She knows."

"And she's okay with it?"

I have to push back my anger because it's not directed at her, but some of it slips out in my tone. "Of course she's not."

She turns her head so I can't see her face, something I've noticed she does when she's angry. Her hands fidget while she thinks and after a minute she stands, walking forward toward the edge of the rock. I stand, one arm instinctively going out to pull her back but I stop myself, leaning back again. She stands with her toes a few inches from the edge.

"When I was still with Jasper," she starts. I stiffen, my jaw clenching. "Rose and I used to come here and she would stand on the edge..." she throws her arms out and her head back, "and she would scream."

She stands there and takes a breath but after a minute she relaxes her arms, bringing her hands to rest behind her head. "But I always just sat back, wishing she would stop."

Her hands drop to her sides and she turns to face me. "You make me want to scream. I've never met someone that confuses me as much as you do. I feel like I'm walking on a razor's edge all the time, waiting for the fallout." She laughs. "And that was before I knew you were writing again." She runs a hand through her hair, avoiding my eyes. When she fixes her gaze on me again, though, she's not laughing. "But I love you, so it doesn't matter. And I'm not going to San Diego; I'm staying here, so you'd better really love me back."

If I wasn't me, I would cry.

Instead I reach for her and pull her to me, my hands everywhere, my lips everywhere. When she starts undoing my belt, I think about taking her somewhere else, but...where? We're skipping school, Esme's mad at me and I'm not doing it in the car.

She's staying here. For me. She unbuttons her jeans and I slide them over her hips, pausing to palm her ass, pulling her against me until she moans. She kicks them off, and grabs my dick, looking me in the eye. I pick her up and turn her around so her back's against the rock, pulling her panties aside and pushing in and stopping.

It's so fast. It's all so fast, but I've been waiting for it forever. "I love you," I stutter out, and she presses her mouth against mine, whispering it back again and again until she comes and then I do a minute later.

Afterward, we sit on the rock, and she stretches her pale legs in the sun. In a few weeks her skin will be brown and so will mine. Billy hooked me up with a job with a moving company for the summer. In fall I start school, which is something I owe Esme for completely. I stifle the twinge of guilt in my gut. She filled out the paperwork, got me to write essays for grants and scholarships and put my loans in her name. In an ideal world, I would get to go to the local art college, but the tuition was so high Es couldn't swing it. I'm not complaining, though.

I get to stay here with my girl. And we've got the whole summer to do whatever we want. There's nothing like summer in the city, and I doubt she's ever seen the side of it that I have. She brings her knees up to her chest and rests her head on them, smiling at me. I wish I could stop time and look at that forever.

I've never felt so free.

* * *

**I won't go into great depth, but calling someone a "toy" is a huge sign of disrespect in the writing community, as is writing over someone else's work. A "king" is a very respected, usually prolific writer. You do not declare yourself a king (unless you're a douche). Hee.**

**Also, I posted a WWH playlist: www(dot)playlist(dot)com(backslash)wewerehere**

**Also, you guys are super cool and I want to give you hugs. **

**Thank you for reading!**


	8. Thunder

**Hello, pals! Shit, I've missed you. **

**WARNING: Angst ahead. You know how I do. :)**

**A bazillion spanks to my beta ShearEnvy and my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante. They make this readable, and they make this FUN.**

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I love this summer. It feels the same as the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when he kisses his way slowly down my back, down my spine. It's anticipation and thinly held restraint; heat and sweat and grit.

I soak up every second. I missed this growing up. The music, pulse and vibrancy of the city. My summers were spent in air conditioning, or laying out next to the pool. This isn't summer vacation. This feels like real life because nothing is perfect, but it's still good.

Really good.

This group of girls hangs out in front of Edward's building. As soon as the weather gets warm enough and school is out I show up to find them leaning against the bricks, lounging on the stairs, clapping along with double dutch beats and chanting in unison. They wear too much makeup and spend too much energy acting aloof, but when the ice cream truck comes by they take off running with all the other kids.

At first they won't talk to me, shooting me dirty looks and whispering as the heavy front door to the building shuts behind me, and when Edward is with me I might as well not be there at all. It's all sparkly eyeshadow and smiles. He calls them the brat pack, which they pretend to hate but clearly love.

After a week one of them finally asks my name and by the end of that day, as the sun is setting, I'm bouncing from foot to foot dodging the swinging ropes while the plastic slaps the sidewalk rhythmically.

It takes me almost an hour to get the motion down and then to follow along with the rhyme and the motions, but the brat pack erupts in cheers from where they surround Edward on the steps when I finally get it the whole way through. He laughs at my bright eyes and sense of accomplishment.

Maternal voices echo out from apartment windows and front doors, calling kids in for dinner. The brat pack scatters, giggling and making plans for the next day as they make their way home.

The sun sets but the sidewalks stay warm, and we sit on his front steps watching the comings and goings in the neighborhood. People stay out late, lingering at the tables outside the coffee shop and grilling on their stoops and balconies. Music drifts out of open apartment windows and passing cars, in jarring harmony.

My tank top sticks to me, and my feet are dirty from the pavement, but the way he looks at me makes me feel so pretty. He presses a kiss to my shoulder and stares, our smiling faces close. A siren makes him turn his head, and I trace a finger down his arm, tan now and getting bigger from lifting furniture and boxes at his job. Mine is a lot less demanding physically, and I don't have to work as much as Edward, but my dad isn't taking it easy on me regardless.

The most frustrating part of the internship is the schmoozing. I'm forced to attend banquets and conferences, often as my father's guest, seemingly so he can introduce me to every guy in a suit that he knows. I do it all without complaint, though, because his generosity has afforded me this happiness that I'm experiencing right now- watching the warm, orange sun set behind the buildings, the profile that I've memorized silhouetted against the sky.

Esme walks around the corner and up the steps, and E stiffens. She says "hey" but it's not an invitation for conversation. I respond, but he doesn't, his eyes trained on the ground in front of him, his jaw set.

This is the dark spot on the summer. Since she figured out what he's been doing, there's been distance between them...and us. I've only heard them speak a few words to each other in the last few weeks, even at graduation. She and I have probably had even fewer, but they've been echoing through my head since.

_Edward left for work and I'm looking for my phone in the couch cushions, sure that's the last place I saw it. I jump a mile when she opens her bedroom door._

_She laughs lightly, but it's off, and she only meets my eyes for a second. _

"_Hey, Bella."_

"_Morning," I answer, too cheerfully, my nervousness apparent. I watch her walk to the kitchen before I remember what I'm doing. I find my phone under the couch and stand up, sliding it in my pocket. She gets something out of the fridge and then leans against it, staring at the rules that still hang there, unheeded. _

_I move toward the door. "Okay I'll see you later, Es." My hand is on the knob when she speaks, and I freeze._

"_It won't last, you know." _

_I don't answer, but I hear her turn so I do, too._

"_He'll get caught." _

"_Don't say that," I whisper, my throat tight._

"_How can you just..." her words fade off and she shifts her gaze to the windows. "Just understand, I've been through this before." The look on her face makes my stomach hurt. It's knowing and resigned and carries a sadness that I don't know I can fully comprehend. _

"_I love him." It's all I've got, and the reality of that hits my skin like ice. _

_That's not an answer._

"_Then stop him." Her teary eyes focus on mine and make me take a step back, and then another, and then make me turn and walk out the door. _

Maybe the dark spot isn't Esme, but it's her truth.

No, it's _the_ truth.

But here, with his skin and eyes and lips on mine, and someone playing Otis Redding to the setting sun, I can't help but hope that everything is going to be okay.

* * *

We spend a lot of time with Emmett and Rose. Her parents moved into a much smaller house, but it's in the suburbs and Rose refused to go. She's still staying in our guest room. My mom says she hardly notices that she's there most of the time, and my dad only gets annoyed when she drinks his beer. She's with Emmett most of the time but predictably, his mother despises her, so they're with Edward and me a lot. Sometimes she goes with Emmett to hang out with his friends, and always returns ripe with gossip.

The four of us meet at the coffee shop some mornings.

"Jasper's still a douche...but, like...duh.." she says, shaking her iced coffee to get the last drops out of the bottom with her straw.

I roll my eyes and nod for her to continue, pausing to steady Edward's bouncing knee under the table. Mentions of Jasper still agitate him. Rightfully so, I guess. I lock my pinkie with his and he smiles.

"What else...Jessica Stanley is dating some basketball player, and Mike is all depressed about it. Oh!" She sits upright, pursing her lips together in a smile. She's got something good. "Alice Brandon is getting fat."

I frown. "What? How is that even possible?" Alice has always been fanatical about her body and her health.

Rose shrugs, sitting back in her seat smugly. "I don't know, but girl has a straight-up double chin."

Emmett nods, wincing in sympathy for Alice.

I watch Rose while she talks. She's doing better now...at least she looks better. My parents tried to get her to see a therapist, which she laughed at outright, but Emmett seems to be some kind of therapy in and of himself. She's not the shaky, crying person that she was a few weeks ago - so even though she still has a flask in her purse, and sometimes she's fuzzy around the edges with pills, we take it with a grain of salt.

She's happy now, and it seems like that's what matters.

Edward and Emmett have plans to play basketball, so Rose and I decide to hang out here and meet up with them later.

"Hey, have you talked to Esme?" I ask. She's touching up her eyeliner in a compact.

"Yeah, all the time. Why?"

"I think she's mad at me." Rose sighs, snapping the compact shut and focusing her attention on me.

"She's not mad, Bella. She's just scared for him." She shrugs, but I can tell it's a bigger deal than she's letting on.

"So am I," I say honestly.

There's a pause as she chooses her words. "Well, I'm not saying you condone it or anything, but like, he tags your _name,_ and you went to the bench and shit..."

"Yeah, like, months ago. I told him it freaked me out, but what am I supposed to do? Give him an ultimatum? I mean, have _you_ given him one? Has Esme?"

She laughs. "Girl, if I gave him an ultimatum...just no." Her smile falls. "I think Esme is too afraid he'll just go live with Jake again."

I look down and realize I tore my napkin to shreds. "I guess I can talk to him."

"Yeah just try to keep your clothes on this time."

"What?"

"Haven't you noticed? Every time you tell me a story about how you cried in front of him, it ends with you fucking. You fight, you fuck. You dig deeper than the surface in any way, you fuck. Like, every time. It's statistically proven." Her face is smug, daring me to challenge her.

"Whatever. What's so wrong with that?"

Rose looks at me with knowing eyes, momentarily serious. "I think what you need to ask yourself is if you feel fulfilled at the end of those conversations." My brow furrows. "And I said _ful_-filled, not filled. Because we all know he's doin' that." She follows that up with a very crude gesture.

I roll my eyes, smiling, but underneath that an uneasiness settles in to my stomach and a mantra makes its way through my mind.

_I cry. We fuck. We fight. We fuck. _

_We fuck. We fuck. We fuck. _

_

* * *

_

He's been acting weird all day, which usually means he's going out to tag that night. Before he goes he's quiet, moody and distant, and isn't anything like the kid who shows up the morning after.

It seems like we're riding through this cycle more frequently the longer the summer goes on. He's going out almost three nights a week now. I feel like a fucking yo-yo.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" I ask, the sound of my voice starting to annoy even me at this point, but he's hardly spoken today.

He closes his eyes for a second and gets up off the lounge chair. We're at my house by the pool, which we don't do often. He's definitely not as comfortable here as he is in his neighborhood. "Everything's cool. I'm gonna meet up with the boys, though, so..."

I don't move.

"Bella..." he says gently. I take a deep breath and turn my head to look at him, but I know he can't see my eyes through my dark sunglasses. "We can't do this every time." I've started expressing my distaste for his nocturnal activities.

"We?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "_We_ can't do this." I stand up, wrapping my towel around my waist and grabbing my magazines and sunblock angrily. He watches cautiously and doesn't move, like the deck is covered in land mines.

In the house I throw my stuff on the counter and grab a beer out of the fridge. I'll blame it on Rose. The bottle sweats in my hands and I can't get the fucking top off until he grabs it, twisting the cap off neatly. I gesture that he should take one if he wants, but he shakes his head. It doesn't taste as good as I had hoped.

It brings no relief.

He stands close enough that I can feel heat from his tan skin, and smell his summer scent. Clean sweat, sunshine and fresh-cut lumber.

"What's going on with you?" he asks, his hand moving up my arm and across my shoulder blades. He presses in this spot on either side of my spine that feels so good, and I feel my anger melting.

I have to take a step away from his touch. He drops his head and rubs his eyes with one hand before stepping back to sit on a stool. I try not to focus on his abs, chest or the way his shorts are hanging low enough to show a sliver of pale skin.

"How long are you going to keep doing it?"

He looks down at his hands and cracks the knuckles on one fist while I watch, cringing at the sound. When he looks back up his expression is aloof. "Doing what?"

I turn my head so I can't see him for a second, to hide my anger.

"I thought we talked about this," he says, almost like a parent to a child.

"Don't patronize me," I snap. Jasper used to talk to me like that. Edward looks at the ground, palming his fist again. We're quiet for a second. "It's just...you're different before you go out with the boys. Distant. I know tomorrow everything will be back to normal, but..." He doesn't respond. "It's like this is more important than everything else." He doesn't dispute that. "Maybe even me."

He looks up at that, with an expression that breaks my heart. It's the face of a brokenhearted little kid. "How can you say that?"

"Because you risk everything for it," I say that quietly, but the truth of it screams at me. It's the root, whether or not I realized it.

He shakes his head and gets up, not looking at me while he pulls his wifebeater on and takes his keys off the counter before pausing. "I'll call you tomorrow." He turns, walking toward the front door.

"Every time you go do this I'm afraid it's the last time." I'm not sure he hears me at first, but he stops before he gets to the door and walks back.

"This is who I am," he says. "You knew that."

He pulls me into his chest and rubs my back. I realize that I'm crying again.

Againagainagain.

His lips hit mine softly, his hands moving down my sides, my waist, my hips.

_I cry. We fuck._

It takes me a second to extricate myself from the embrace. He doesn't want to let go, and really, neither do I. I take a few steps back.

"Sex won't fix this."

He just stands there, completely at a loss. "Bella, nothing's gonna happen to me."

My tears have stopped, and suddenly I feel strangely blank. I nod, eyes on the floor.

"I love you."

I look up, and take in his concern and confusion...and his perfect face. "I love you, too."

I spend the night with a deep ache in my chest that feels almost like nostalgia, so I go for actual nostalgia and pull out something that I haven't looked at since the first of the year.

Jasper had terrible handwriting. Most of the notes he wrote me contained angsty, terrible song lyrics that he eventually gave up, and after that, boring stories from football practice. But this one is actually...sort of a love letter. Or the closest to it that Jasper could get.

He once told a group of people that he couldn't remember the first time we had sex, implying that we'd done it so many times that it didn't matter, or that it wasn't special. I don't really know. Rose ratted him out, and I was crushed. He came to school the next day with tired eyes and handed me this note. After I forgave him he told me he stayed up all night writing it.

It says "confidential" on the front. He spelled it wrong.

It's everything from our first time - from what he said to me, to what I wore, to what he was thinking. It's not really graphic but he was a fifteen year old boy, so it's less eloquent than I suppose my account would have been, but I've always liked remembering it from his perspective.

Rose kept the underwear she was wearing when she lost her virginity. I have this note. It's tangible evidence that I was once innocent, and that Jasper wasn't always a total dick.

Maybe that's what I'm looking for. Evidence that I'm not making the wrong choices by proving that my past ones weren't _all _that bad.

I fall asleep in my clothes, wishing Edward was here.

* * *

I wake up to sunlight on my face and Edward sitting on the edge of my bed. He's got purple paint on his toned arms and on his t-shirt, and still has a bandanna around his neck. He must have come right here when he finished. I'm reaching to hook a finger in his belt loop when he speaks.

"What the fuck is this?" he asks quietly, and as the page crinkles in his hand I realize what he's reading. I try to grab it, but he holds it out of reach.

My heart pounds.

"Nothing." I lie fruitlessly. I mean, he obviously read it. I wonder how long he's been here.

He stands up, turning to stare at me, his face cold. "What, were you sitting around reliving old memories?"

"No, I-"

"Just..._don't_." He's pacing, crumpling the note up and then palming his fist in a far more menacing way today than yesterday. I'm frozen on the bed, hardly breathing. "When did he give this to you?"

"Like, freshman year!" I say, and it's true.

"Okay. So, why the fuck are you reading it now." He's raising his voice, and I check the clock to make sure my parents are gone. They are. And then I start to wish that they were home.

"I don't know. I-"

He laughs, his tone cruel. "I should've known." He gives me a look I haven't seen from him in a long time..._contempt._

I sit up taller, starting to get angry. "Should've known _what_?"

"Messing with a girl who cheats on her boyfriend is just askin' for it."

I'm incredulous. I'm on my feet. "It's a fucking _note_. And don't you _dare_ throw that in my face. You were just as much a part of that as I was."

"Yeah, but I wasn't cheating on my boyfriend of _six years_."

"You cheated on Leah!"

"Fuck Leah."

"You_ did._ She made sure I knew that."

He laughs again. "Yeah, well at least you didn't get a fuckin' play by play." He throws the balled-up note on the bed.

I shake my head, frustrated. "That is so old. It doesn't mean anything. Why are we even fighting about this?"

"If it doesn't mean anything then why did you fall asleep with it last night?"

"Because I'm confused! Because you scare me and I don't know what's going to happen and I just...Jasper was easy. Predictable. I don't want him back, it's just the only thing I kept that he gave me." I think back to my thought process last night, but it's jumbled now, and I can't find the right words.

He stops, and stares at me for a minute. "I wish you could hear the shit he used to say about you in the locker room. He..." He takes a breath, not saying things that I'm sure I don't want to hear. "I can't believe you would have that little self respect."

I'm not sure exactly what he means by that, but it doesn't matter.

"Get out."

His face goes blank.

"_Get out!_" I yell it.

He does.

The mantra is now as follows:

_We fight. He leaves. I cry._

_Fuck._

_

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**Thank you for reading. I realize right now you're probably like "Thanks for the update, bitch!" but I hope you can stick with me here. I'm going to be updating on a much more regular basis now that my busy season is over. Yay! **

**I like you guys. Like, a lot. :)**


	9. Lightning

**Thank you so very much to my beta ShearEnvy, my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante, and all y'all who are reading. **

**The song at the end of this chapter is Shelter from the Storm by Bob Dylan. I'm a hippie at heart (don't tell anyone), and the lyrics to that one...so poignant it's painful. Makes me nostalgic for a time I didn't live through. **

**Alright, enough of my misty, watercolored ramblings. On with it. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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"It's the third night in a row, E. Let's just chill. Anyway, the boys are on their way over." Jake is lounging on his couch eating a popsicle, his eyes on the TV. He doesn't have air conditioning, and it's hot this week. Neither of us are wearing shirts, which isn't unusual around here.

I'm restless, sliding my dad's dog tags along their chain. My leg shakes as I sit, like I might take off running at any second.

"You crashing here again?" he asks. I nod. "Isn't Esme getting pissed? You haven't been home in a while." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye for a second, frowning. Now that he and Rose are on good terms and he's over the fact that she's with Emmett, I'm pretty sure the two of them have been talking about me. He took a phone call in his room earlier, and shut the door. That's not like him. I pause to think about Esme, which I've been trying not to do. I haven't even called her; I let my phone die two days ago and haven't bothered to go to the loft to get my charger.

He accepts my shrug as an answer and lets it go.

I didn't exactly tell Jake that Bella and I got in a fight, but he seems to know enough not to bring it up. That argument…that shit I read…it's enough to make me put my fist through a fucking wall, and the kid knows me well enough to see that. My muscles tighten reflexively at the thought and my knee bounces faster as I try to think about something else…_anything_ else.

I hear people come up the front steps. The screen door swings open and the boys walk in, loud and obnoxious as usual, but I welcome the distraction. Sam passes me a bottle of whiskey and flops down next to me. I hit it hard once and then again after a minute, hoping the burn will quell my anxiousness. The third time I bring the bottle down Sam's watching me.

"You alright, brother?" he asks, quiet enough so no one else notices.

I'm going to say yes but I pause for a minute, and then shake my head without looking at him. No. I am _not _fucking alright.

He nods at the bottle and I bring it up to my lips again. And again and again and again. It doesn't take long for things to grow hazy enough to be bearable. Someone hands me a beer, and I stay camped out where I am, letting them interact around me, happily oblivious.

Leah walks in with Rachel. I nod at Rachel and give Leah the finger. She gives it right back and then sits on Jared's lap, watching my reaction out of the corner of her eye while she kisses him full on the lips. He stares at me while she does it, wide-eyed. I just laugh, and he breaks the kiss and waits for me to give him the okay. I nod, and then we're all good. Jake told me they were dating…fucking…whatever.

I don't give a fuck about Leah.

A few more beers and bottles and blunts get passed around until I hit the point where all I want to do is stare at the ceiling, so I rest my head on the back of the couch and do it. My vision spins slowly, but not enough to make me sick, just enough to make me stop thinking about her.

Sort of.

My previous agitation has subsided completely and now I'm just numb...and really fucked up.

More people come in, and I when I hear my name I raise a hand in greeting but don't look up. I can't, or maybe I just don't, but it doesn't matter. I don't know how long I've been laying here. A minute…an hour…I can't be sure, when the couch next to me sinks down further and a hand slides up my arm. I don't move to stop it, but I don't encourage it either, blinking lazily. The front door slams heavily just after hand moves to my knee.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hear Rose say from a few feet away. The body next to me jerks away, and then is no longer there. I don't look to see who it was, but Rose says "skank" loudly, before her face slides into my vision.

"Get up," she says, looking down at me angrily through a curtain of blond hair.

I choose not to respond, instead I try to stare her down, but my eyes can't focus all the way. She grabs one of my arms, pulling me to a seated position. The gathering turned into a party when I wasn't looking, and it continues on around me as she yanks me to my feet and out the door. I pull away when we get outside. "Fuck off," I say, pulling her hand off of my arm.

"Go inside, Paul," she says.

He mumbles "damn", but complies, as do the other people on the porch.

I sit on the top step, head in my hands. I wish I had grabbed another bottle of something…doesn't matter what.

She stands in front of me on the sidewalk, and even though I can only see her feet I can feel her glaring at me.

"What are you doing? Who the hell was that hooker in there?" she asks. "Why is your phone shut off?"

I shrug, still trying to get my bearings after moving around. The ground spins and my mind can't process her barrage of questions.

"Why haven't you called her?"

I sit up, but can't really lift my head all the way. "What, did she tell you to come bitch at me?" I ask, but it comes out slurred and in one long word.

"No, asshole, she's devastated. God, what is wrong with you? That shit you said to her…about her cheating?" I glance up to catch her angry stare and immediately drop my head again. "Fucking prick move, Edward."

I try to focus on her to retaliate, and realize she's wearing one of Bella's favorite t-shirts. My stomach lurches and I lean over the side of the steps to throw up.

She sighs, dropping her bag next to me and sitting down. When I'm done she hands me a bottle of water to rinse my mouth out. I drop the cap and she retrieves it.

"Clearly you're too drunk to have this conversation, but I'll be back in the morning," she warns. She goes inside before she leaves, and Jake helps me stumble to the musty couch on the back porch, leaving me to pass out with my cheek pressed against the scratchy upholstery. Sadly, I'm finding out that no matter how drunk I get, I will still fall asleep thinking about Bella.

* * *

I sleep like shit and wake up too early.

Billy works nights at a nearby plant and is asleep, but I see that he started coffee when he got home. He also left a note next to the pot letting Jake know that he _will_ have the house cleaned up by the time he wakes up.

I'm at the kitchen table sipping tepid water, just hoping I can keep it down.

I cringe when the front door creaks open and Rose steps in. "Morning, sunshine," she sings softly, grinning at me. She knows Billy will be asleep, so she keeps her voice down. Jake is passed out in the living room with some chick lying on top of him. At least they're clothed, I guess. Rose peers over the back of the couch as she walks by, rolling her eyes and making a disgusted face.

She flops down in the chair opposite me, dropping her heavy bag on the table.

"I've never seen you up this early willingly," I mumble, my voice like gravel.

"I don't have much of a choice right now." Her eyes are clear and she doesn't have traces of last night's makeup on her face. It puts me on edge. When Rose isn't fucked up, it's because she's taking care of either me or Bella. It's a rare occurrence, but apparently that's where we're at now. And then it occurs to me that maybe I'm not the only one fucking up. My nausea kicks up again when I think of Bella as drunk as I was last night…doing…something I can't even think about unless I want to vomit again.

I can't get that thought out before she starts in on me. "Because, seriously, are going to just let skanky chicks hang all over you until you pull your head out of your ass? What if Bella showed up and saw that shit?" She looks away from me for a second, and I can tell she's suppressing the need to tell me off. Her lips purse and she sneers.

I put my head in my hands.

She snorts. "You're lucky I don't tell her."

"It wasn't like that and you know it," I say harshly, even though I don't remember exactly what happened. I just know I didn't touch another girl

"Yeah, and it wasn't 'like that' with the note, either," she fires back.

I raise my chin and I know my face is cold and smug, or as cold and smug as I can pull off when I feel this shitty.

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "Oh, please. We both know it's killing you. But what should really bother you is that it's killing her." She leans in. "And you were wrong."

"Was I?" I respond defiantly. We stare each other down.

She breaks it first, sitting back in her chair, suddenly looking very tired. She takes a breath. "She won't stick around forever if you treat her like this, Edward. I know you're fucked up. We're all fucked up. But it doesn't give you the right to say whatever the hell you want just because you're angry that Bella, at one time, had sex with Jasper. Get over it. Obviously she doesn't feel that way about him anymore. I mean, she was honest about what happened with you. She knew she would lose her friends, him, her reputation…for what? To have it thrown in her face? Pretty shaky moral high ground you're standing on if you ask me, _pal_."

I study my glass of water, guilt and self-loathing marrying perfectly with my hangover.

I'm an asshole, and I haven't been in a position to be dressed down by Rose in quite a while.

Her eyes drift around the kitchen, and I know she's seeing a scene she's seen a thousand times before—the sad remains of a night you can hardly remember. There's some nostalgia mixed with her disgust, but she's different since everything went down with her parents, and Emmett mellows her out or something. She still gets fucked up, but it's not like the old days when I would have to try to find her and clean her up. I would get a call to pick her up in some random park, or at an address I'd never been to, and sometimes she would still be high on something, stumbling around in her mom's fur coat like a young Courtney Love. If I'm being honest with myself, maybe I was more comfortable with that version of her. The person in front of me is too perceptive, too astute. She sees things that I want to hide from.

She's too honest.

"Go home. Esme's worried," she says after a minute. She grabs her bag and stands up, looking me over. "Oh, and in case you were wondering, a girl with self-respect is a girl who kicks you out of her house when you're being a jackoff."

There's no humor in her words, but when she walks by the couch on her way out she slaps Jake's girl on the ass and says, "Morning, sweet cheeks."

I hear Jake grumble something and she laughs as she closes the door.

My hangover lets up enough to let me help Jake clean up the bottles and cans, and then I slowly get my shit together and drive back to the loft. Esme is sitting in front of the canvas with a palette and brush in her hands when I come through the door. She doesn't turn her head.

I put my bag down carefully in my room, but I'm sure she hears the rattle of the cans and markers. Everything is exactly as I left it, down to the sketchbook on the bed. It's open to a piece that I probably won't end up doing. I don't do characters, or I never have before, but I've got a very stylized version of Bella's face that I've been sketching for a few months. I'm just not sure if I can pull it off.

And I'm not sure that it matters anymore.

I eye the cord to my phone charger and reluctantly plug it in but don't turn it on. I'm not ready for all of that yet. First, I need to fix this with Esme if I can. I lean in the doorway to my room, unsure of how to approach her.

She's listening to vinyl. The speakers sound each scratch and imperfection but it's comforting, and very Esme. She's got her bare feet on the rungs of the stool, her jeans are threadbare and her shirt is probably older than I am. She coats the brush with white paint, adding thick, impasto highlights to the buildings she's painting on the canvas that was meant for me but sat blank for months. I don't remember ever seeing her paint before but it's clear she's got talent, and it's something she's studied.

I realize there's a lot I don't know about her, that there are large gaps growing up when I didn't see her at all. It's that process of learning these things about each other that makes our relationship so interesting and so close. It's not about knowing everything, it's about the fact that there's someone here who cares.

I miss her.

"Hey, Es," I say, even though she knows I'm here.

She sighs, poking her brush into the yellow and blending it with white, making another spot on the canvas. She mixes a little linseed oil in to thin it out and brings the brush back up, not hesitating as she paints. "Hey," she answers, but doesn't turn.

This is going to be harder than I thought. I fight the instinct to just go in my room and shut the fucking door.

"I'm sorry." The words in the air and the stroke of her brush both falter momentarily. I move further into the room so I can see more of her face. She's frowning, but doesn't respond right away. "I should've called."

After a minute she sets the palette down and then the brush, wipeing her hands on a clean rag as she turns to face me. "So, you're home after disappearing for four days, and apparently you're speaking to me now?" She asks, her tone skeptical and almost sarcastic. "And you're…_sorry_."

I've never really seen this side of her, not even when I've been in trouble. Not even when I've disappeared for days on end in the past. She was always here to ask the questions and to lecture me, but it wasn't like this. The coldness stings but when she brings a hand up to rub her temple, her hand shakes.

I nod.

"Not good enough, Edward," she says, tossing down the rag and walking across the loft into the kitchen. I'm left staring the wrong direction, out the windows, while she opens cabinets and slams them shut behind me. I start to realize that this isn't just going to be hard…I might have actually fucked up this relationship for real. For good.

Again, I stuff the urge to fucking bolt. I close my eyes and see Bella's face. I have to fix something. One thing, at least. The commotion in the kitchen quiets, and when I turn Esme has her arms wrapped around herself. Her shoulders shake, the ingredients on the counter forgotten.

"Es," I say, standing up and walking quickly into the kitchen. She doesn't resist when I pull her into a hug, and she cries openly, not stifling her sobs. The record comes to an end, the needle hitting a scratch rhythmically and creating its own beat.

She pushes away after a minute, grabbing a napkin to wipe her eyes. Her back is to me and I watch her try to get it together. She freezes with the napkin still at her face before reaching out and ripping the rules off of the fridge. Magnets scatter, one skidding almost all the way to the front door.

The record keeps turning, the scratching the only sound filling the silence between us.

When she turns to face me, her finger is moving over the first rule, feeling the drips of the paint marker she used to underline it.

I can see how this is going to go and I know that no matter what I say, I'm not going to be able to make it okay.

"The only thing I'm asking is the one thing you won't give." She doesn't hide her grief from me even a little, letting me see her tears and her uncertainty. "I would give up every other rule on this list if you would just give me that." I keep my jaw clenched and breathe in and out quickly to keep my tears where they belong. I find myself blinking rapidly.

I try to lie. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

She smiles sadly at that and shakes her head, her voice coming out in a whisper. "You keep saying that, but…" Her head keeps shaking as I'm formulating answers, shooting each one down before it even comes out of my mouth, like she can tell what I'm thinking.

"So what now?"

Her answer is immediate. "You have to stop. Now. Today."

I don't answer and look away, unable to keep looking her in the eye. I know what's coming next.

She qualifies her previous statement. "You have to stop or you have to leave." Fresh tears wet her eyes and she looks at me pleadingly, begging me to comply.

"Es…" I start, but she's for real. My chest constricts at the loss, and I really have to hold tears back now. I don't cry.

I don't fucking cry.

I grab my dad's old duffel bag and a few tears sneak out silently as I pack, although I still don't consider that crying. My dad's letters, my current sketchbooks and enough clothes to get by fit in the bag. I leave some things but figure I can pack it all up later.

The scratching of the record stops and then starts again-the sound different—a different record. At the first notes I stop, staring at the framed photo of my parents that I keep on my dresser. My dad and Esme disagreed about everything. They were on opposite ends of the spectrum about politics, religion and every other controversial topic they could think to differ on, but they both loved music. My dad always wanted to educate me about the songs of his youth and made sure that I heard more than hip-hop and whatever else Jake and I were listening to.

"_Music? This isn't music, kid," he scoffed, pressing stop on the CD player. _

_I roll my eyes as he flips through his records __which __take up an entire shelf. He pulls out something with a faded cover and the painted silhouette of a man on the front. I look at the cover skeptically when he hands it to me, flipping it to read the song names._

"_Looks like some hippie shit."_

_He smacks the back of my head playfully when he's done putting the record on. "Watch your language." But he smiles._

_He sits across from me, playing acoustic air guitar at the opening and alerting me to moments throughout. "Listen to this line" or "you've got to hear this part," while I grin despite myself. _

I would do anything to sit with him one more time and listen to this. I would smile and would close my eyes and feel the music along with him. I wouldn't be too cool, and I wouldn't dismiss his reverie.

This particular song…I remember Esme playing it on her guitar and him singing along with her. He would lay back in his chair while she sat perched on the edge of hers, and when he would play up Bob Dylan's style they would laugh. But there were lines, verses, that were sang seriously and she would nod her head and close her eyes as he sang them. He didn't have a great voice, and maybe it was what he'd seen and how he lived, but he had a way of making those words ache.

My chest constricts painfully as I start to see the significance now. It's a song about war, mortality and love. It's a song he sang because he understood it.

Esme sits staring out the window as I walk up, my backpack over one shoulder and my duffel in the other. I press a kiss to the top of her head and her breath hitches in her chest and her eyes stay closed as I walk out, squeezed together in protest of watching me leave.

I already know these lyrics will haunt me for days.

* * *

**Now there's a wall between us/Something there's been lost/I took too much for granted/Got my signals crossed/Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn/Come in, she said, I'll give you/Shelter from the storm**

**Thank you for reading, lovers. More to come, and I'm on a frickin' roll, so the wait won't be long. xo**


	10. Strike

**Hi! Let's do this.**

**I love my beta, ShearEnvy, and I love my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante. This would be no fun without them. LOVE.**

**Also, many thanks to shickle1970, who gave me some fantastic advice and talked me through some rough spots in this chapter. LOVE.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

* * *

It's a lot of work to feel nothing - to ride the absolute middle of your emotions without even slight variation in happiness or sadness.

For some reason, I remember it being effortless in the past...but now I have to _try_. I know that at some point every delayed emotion will slam back into me like a punch in the gut, but I don't care right now.

Right now I need to deny, delay and distract.

I tell myself it's working, and I go to my internship and smile. I come home and try to avoid Rose, because she really _sees_ me, and right now I just want to be left alone.

I'm relieved when she tells me that Esme hired her to help out at the yoga studio on the weekend. I know she's been talking to my parents because my mom keeps asking me what's wrong. Last night she even made me my favorite dinner and was surprised when I sat down and ate like I normally would, engaging my dad in conversation about work and my plans for school that fall.

They've been looking at me like I'm about to lose my shit. But I feel okay. Not really good, but okay.

Rose tried to get me to go out with her and Emmett last night, but all I wanted to do was sit and watch TV and go to bed. My parents regarded my presence on the couch as though I was an unexpected - but not unwelcome - addition to their nightly routine. They were so conscious of my every move, though, that I went to bed early, and I've been laying awake since then. It's two in the morning, and Rose isn't back yet.

She creeps in around two and whispers my name from the doorway to my room. I pretend to be asleep.

But I don't sleep. I see the sky turn purple, pink, orange and then blue before I get up. My parents are taking an overnight trip to visit some friends about an hour from here, and when I get downstairs their bags are sitting by the front door.

"Bella," my dad says from the kitchen. I sit at the counter, watching them watch me. The scrutiny makes me want to scream. "Are you going to be okay?"

I clench my teeth and nod. They leave town a lot. Throughout my life there have been months when they were hardly ever here. I can't fathom why they're acting like they've never been gone for a night before.

They exchange a glance but both get up. My mom puts their coffee cups in the dishwasher.

"No parties," my dad warns. I laugh once, abruptly. I lack the necessary quantity of friends to pull off a party. In fact, at this point, I could hardly pull off a small gathering. He looks at me sternly so I nod and smile. My mom touches my shoulder as she walks past me.

When Rose descends the steps already dressed, with her bag over her shoulder, I'm surprised. She routinely sleeps until two in the afternoon on the weekends. I remember that she's helping Esme out, though, and don't question it. She gets a glass of water and stands in front of me on the other side of the counter.

"Say 'hi' to Esme," I say, but I don't think about what the words mean. Just words. Nothing behind them.

"She took the day off," Rose says after a minute, frowning as she looks down. I think she wants me to ask her questions, but I find my own spot on the counter to stare at and just wait until she leaves. "What are you doing tonight?" she asks on her way out.

I shrug. It's pretty likely that I will do exactly what I did last night.

"I'll pick you up when I get off at four," she says with conviction, closing the door before I can argue.

My exhaustion finally wins out when I'm laying out by the pool. I fall asleep and wake up with a wicked sunburn on my back. I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself, trying to smooth aloe over skin that's hard to reach, when she returns. The second she appears in the doorway to the kitchen, where I'm standing with aloe on my hands and feeling very alone, I burst into tears.

She mumbles "finally" and I hear her bag hit the floor. Her hands smooth over mine to get the aloe, and then she moves behind me and soothes the part of me that I haven't been able to reach.

"Why hasn't he called?" I choke out, when she faces me again. For the first time I notice her clear eyes and her quick movements. She's not high. She's not..._anything_. I want to ask her what's going on but don't get the chance.

"Because he's a fucking moron," she says, her voice carrying the anger that's usually reserved for the topic of her parents.

I sigh, knowing I have to ask my next question. "What's going on?" The change in her demeanor alerts me to the fact that something bad has happened, and for the first time in days I let my stomach clench with the pain I know I caused.

She tells me everything. After much hesitation, she even tells me how she showed up at Jake's last night and found some chick hanging on Edward while he was almost passed out. I cry so hard over those words that she has to get me a wet washcloth and put it on the back of my neck as I'm doubled over.

She reassures me that nothing happened, and that this is just how things were before me. Girls threw themselves at Edward. Always had. He rarely gave enough of a fuck to reciprocate, let alone speak to them. None of it makes me feel better. When Rosalie tells me Esme kicked him out, my heart breaks because for her to get to that point, things must be really horrible.

And because I watched it get that horrible and didn't do anything to stop it.

After about an hour, Rose tells me I need to calm down, pulls me up the stairs and gets me into a cold shower. When I'm done she puts more aloe on my back while I stare at my puffy face in the mirror, completely spent now that I let the wall down.

I let her do my hair, something we used to do when we were kids. She still brushes too hard, and I shy away from the heat of the flat iron when she gets too close to my skin but there's something comforting in the nostalgia of it.

She stole my favorite shirt, which I point out as she tosses clothes at me to put on, but she just smiles and I slide on the skirt and tank top before lying down on the bed. Perching on the edge, she considers my face. "I think we need to go somewhere."

My stomach twists the whole way because I'm sure she's taking me to where Edward is, but instead we pull up on a side street across from a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. The car Edward did for me sits on the tracks, apparently out of service for the day, or maybe forever. I wouldn't know.

"Jake told me where it was," she says, both of us staring. I want to get closer, but she stops me when I reach for the door handle. "This neighborhood is sketch, so stay in the car."

From here I can feel the permanence of it. I can see the sharp contrast of the shiny metal against the black outline of my name, and once more I'm impressed with the skill involved. The piece floats, the letters fade from pink to white, and the surrounding silver remains clean, like the outline was done with a stencil. I remember his almost comically violent reaction when I asked him about stencils a few months ago and allow my chest to rise and fall quickly, no longer trying to stifle my response to any of this.

A pair of hearts push against the B, and his signature resides there as well - a small "reign" in white. His name on mine.

His name. I asked him about it once.

"_The reign of a monarch. A king. That's what we all wanted to be," he says, looking sheepish about his youthful ideals, a small smile on his face. "To be a king in my world… another king has to give you that. They have to tell you you're in." _

_He pauses, making a few marks __within__ his sketchbook before speaking again. "I was more willing back then to do anything for it." His eyes meet mine. "And I liked the idea that the reign of most monarchs comes with death."_

I don't know what look I had on my face in that moment, but he told me that wasn't how he felt anymore, and I remember feeling better. He can do that…_could _do that. He kissed away my apprehension.

But that name is still there, defining him and owning him, even if he thinks it doesn't mean what he originally intended.

It takes me awhile to notice that Rose is staring at me.

"He's back at Jake's, if you want to go see him."

I shake my head. There's no way I'm going there if he doesn't want to see me. And he obviously doesn't.

She sighs, turning to face forward. "Bella, he's..." I watch her search for words. "I'm afraid if you don't make that first move, he's not going to. I've watched him self-destruct before, and I'm afraid one of these times...he's just not going to come back from it."

She doesn't specify what that means, but I've thought through enough scenarios as to how he could fall apart that I don't need to ask.

Afraid. She said afraid twice. I look at her, and she turns back to me. Somehow I missed this part of her relationship with him. She's always been so cavalier about his tagging, and lifestyle, but I guess underneath that was concern that had been clouded by whatever substance she was on at the time.

Her fear makes me uncomfortable. "Okay," I say, still apprehensive but unwilling to see that look on her face and not at least try to make it better. At least that's what I tell myself. In reality, my need to see him overrides my pride, anger and heartbreak.

He should have made the first move. He needs to apologize. But maybe I need to be okay with putting myself out there so he sees that he can.

And maybe I owe him an apology, too. I turn in my seat to get one last glance at the train as we pull away.

We've dropped Jake off many times in the last few months, so I know when we're getting close. It's getting late and the streetlights pop on one at a time as we drive, like they're lighting the way for our arrival.

She pulls up to the curb before we get to the house, and we can see about ten people on Jake's porch and steps. It's a small house with a chain link fence, the grass sparse in spots but trimmed and green. They all watch us without suspicion, probably recognizing Rose's car.

Edward sits on the top step, Jake next to him. I don't know if he can see me, but he stares lazily in our direction, his elbows resting on his knees. He's shirtless, with a bottle of what looks like whiskey in his hand. He takes a drink and passes it to Jake without taking his eyes from where we sit. Jake is talking to him but Edward doesn't seem to respond, or even acknowledge him.

"Great," Rose says, frustrated. "He's drunk."

I almost laugh at the irony of her making that statement, but Edward's gaze is starting to unnerve me. "Should we..." I start, about to suggest that we just leave but she throws her door open, waiting for me to get out before slamming her door shut. Her anger is palpable, and Jake immediately gets up and walks down the steps, opening the gate and meeting us on the sidewalk. He smiles at me sadly.

"It's not a good time," he says, glancing at Rose and away quickly, likely startled by her sneer.

"Fuck that," Rose says, starting to push past him, but he grabs her arm. She looks down at it in disbelief.

"He's not gonna talk. It's one of those times...know what I mean?" he says, looking at her significantly. She stops moving forward and her shoulders sag.

I stand, looking at Edward. He's staring at the ground, his chin tilted up and his jaw set. It's smug and defiant and cool. It's a face I have rooted in my memory.

Before Jake can stop me I'm around him and through the gate. I don't look at anyone else, and when I plant my feet in front of him he finally looks up. The hard expression is still there, but up close I can see that it's an act. He doesn't look that drunk, but it's just enough to make him aloof.

"Who's that?" a female voice asks in a snotty tone. I turn to see a redhead sitting next to Sam. He pointedly ignores her and nods at me. Rose's account of the "skank" touching on Edward flashes through my mind.

"I'm Bella," I say politely. "And who are you?"

She rolls her eyes. "Victoria," she says, pausing to stare me down before letting a slow smile take over her face. "Leah told me about you."

The boys groan collectively and from behind me Jake speaks. "Seriously, Tor?"

"Fuck you," she fires back. She's wearing a wifebeater and baggy shorts that hang low on her hips, a tattoo peeking out over the waistband. Nothing about her is boyish, though. Her lips are red and her tits are bigger than mine by far. Her nails are long and fake with french tips and jewels embedded in them.

"Is that her?" I ask Edward, who picked the bottle back up and looks like he's ignoring all of us. Until I speak those words. His cool exterior breaks and his mouth opens slightly. He glares at Rose for a second. I have to turn to see her, but she just raises an eyebrow at him. "Did you..." I ask him as quietly as I can.

The redhead laughs loudly.

It's not fair. My seething anger at her isn't fair. If anything _did _happen, it's not really her fault. He's the one with the obligation to me. He's the one who I should want to slap the shit out of right now.

But her sneer makes my head spin and when she stands up, pursing her lips and pushing her chest out, I'm up the stairs in two quick steps. My hands fly out to slam her against the wall. I take a step back when she stands up straight, rolling her shoulders back and wincing slightly. But then she smiles again. "Wanna dance, princess?" She shoves me and I hit the railing hard, but straighten myself up quickly and lunge at her again. Her hand twists painfully in my hair and I get one good slap in before Edward pulls me up and away from her, his body coming between us, our chests pressed together. Sam holds Victoria back by her arms as she thrashes, her cheek red from my palm.

"I wouldn't _touch_ him, bitch," she spits as he pushes me in the door. "Leah's my girl."

Before the door closes I see Rose standing with her mouth open next to Jake, who just has his eyebrows raised and a smile on his face. It's amusement mixed with something else that I can't identify.

In the living room he lets go of me, almost pushing me away as he does it. He paces, his hands on the back of his neck and his head down. I back up against the wall behind me, watching him and trying to comb my hair down with my fingers. My scalp aches, I can feel where I hit the railing, and my sunburned skin is on fire- but other than that I'm okay.

He's not.

He mumbles something that I can't understand before he stops, dropping his arms and raising his head to look at me. "What are we doing?" he asks. I have no idea how to answer that, so I don't open my mouth. Everything I wanted to say...none of it seems right after what just happened.

"Rose said-"

"Rose needs to learn to keep her fucking mouth shut," he snaps.

The urge to slap the shit out of him rushes back. "Don't talk about her like that, and don't talk to me like that," I say loudly. "If you thought for a _second_ that another guy even touched me, tell me you wouldn't do the same thing."

He laughs bitterly, but nods. "Yeah, and if you read a note like that...tell me _you_ wouldn't do the same thing." I notice that he doesn't swear this time, tripping over the spots slightly where I'm sure he wants to say "fucking".

I blow out a breath slowly, collecting my thoughts. "It was dumb. I shouldn't have kept it, and you shouldn't have had to read it. I'm sorry for that."

He looks at me, the mask he had on earlier completely gone now. Just pain. "I'm sorry, too."

In the face of that expression, I have trouble getting the next words out but they have to be said. "But if you think I'm going to let you make me feel like shit about what happened last fall, we're done here." I ignore the fact that I just tried to beat the shit out of a girl just because I thought she might have touched him.

_Clearly_, I'm not done.

"I didn't mean that," he says quietly, looking ashamed.

"And I have self-respect," I say, my trembling voice betraying my confidant words.

He looks me in the eye. "I know."

We stare at each other for a long minute. "And you didn't call." My eyes water, and I'm surprised when his do, too.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice breaking.

It's all I need to push off the wall and go to him, the bare skin of his back smooth under my fingertips and his chest hard against my cheek. His hands run under my tank top and his thumbs rub at my lower back gently - I can tell I'll be sore there later. I turn to press a kiss to the chain of his dog tags. It's like he was waiting for that because he picks me up, wrapping my legs around him and pressing me against the wall, our foreheads touching. Tears track his cheeks, and he breathes hard, our eyes on each other. He pushes against me, not breaking our stare, and we exhale together shakily.

I push back and he groans, finally pressing his lips to mine.

It's the best kiss. It's an apology kiss. It's tainted with tears and how fucked up we are, but it's an understanding.

The door creaks open behind us, and we break apart reluctantly. I hear Jake's laugh behind us and the door closes again. "Want to go to my house?" I ask quickly. "My parents are gone tonight."

Something flashes over his face, and I think he's remembering Esme. Usually he would check with her, not that she ever minded as long as she knew where he was. He nods, and puts me down slowly. He throws on a wifebeater, grabs his backpack and we walk outside to a few curious glances, but it doesn't seem like anyone is particularly floored by the way events are transpiring. I'm just relieved when Victoria isn't there anymore. Rose has the bottle of whiskey in her hand and is sitting next to Jake in the spot Edward vacated.

Jake points at me as we pass. "That's a down-ass bitch right there."

I stop, turning to glare at him. Rose almost chokes on her drink, nudging Jake with her shoulder and swallowing her sip of whiskey before she speaks. "Girl, he meant that as a compliment."

My expression softens and then turns slightly smug. "Oh. Thanks." Jake laughs, throwing his head back.

Edward shakes his head and pulls me toward his car. I mouth "down-ass bitch" at him with a question on my face. He just smiles.

In the rearview mirror I see Rose watch us until she grows so small that I can't see her face anymore.

I should have thanked her.

* * *

The way he makes me feel is so good that it's almost painful. The mantra (_we fight we fuck)_ echoes through my mind a few times while we strip off each other's clothes, but I'm starting to think that not all of that is such a bad thing. There's a reason that the term "make-up sex" was coined.

And, oh my god...it's a _very _good reason. Usually we're quiet in my room, or at least he tries to keep me quiet, even when my parents are out of town. Tonight he lets me go, and when I tell him I love him he moans it back and fucks me harder and faster, his hands gripping my headboard so hard I'm afraid he might break it.

It's over fast, but it's not really over...it's just a break. Afterwards we talk. He tells me about Esme and about the song- and when he tells me why she kicked him out he speaks honestly about her reasons, and how he knows that she's right.

"But you're just going to keep doing it anyway?" I blurt out. I stiffen, waiting for his reaction, but he just sighs, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know," he whispers.

We spend the night in my bed, ignoring our phones and the rest of the world. He tells me more about his dad, and even speaks a few words about his mom, which makes me want to cry. That conversation isn't one we have had, but I don't push him to tell me more, aware that the things he doesn't say are probably the most painful.

He goes back to Jake's the next night, without any promise that he won't go out and write. I don't ask, though. I just tell him I love him at the door, and let myself feel how much he means it when he says it back.

* * *

"Bella," the voice whispers. "_Bella_." This time urgently. A hand gently shakes my shoulder.

The red numbers on my alarm clock read 3:33. It's dark, and so quiet I can hear Rose's quiet breaths from where she's crouching by my bed.

"What the fuck," I say, my mouth dry.

"Something happened," she says, and the sound of her voice makes me sit up and fumble to turn on the lamp on my nightstand. We both wince in the sudden light.

Eye makeup is smudged under her bloodshot eyes.

"What? What is it?" I ask, reaching out to steady her as she sways to the side. She's drunk, but I've seen worse.

"Jake got picked up," she says, biting her lip as her eyes well up, obviously not for the first time.

"Oh my god," I whisper, shifting so I can put my feet on the floor to help her onto the bed. My mind shifts automatically to Edward, and she must see that on my face.

"Edward and Sam got out, but Edward said he thought it was a set up before they got there. He said he had a bad feeling about it..." She shakes her head, her face crumpling.

I take a second to process my relief, and then I brush her hair back off her her face. "I'm gonna wake up my dad," I say. He's bailed plenty of his clients out of jail, so even though I know I'll have to explain some things that won't be pleasant, I have to do it.

The large bag on the ground almost trips me when I get up. I reach to pick it up and it's heavy, the shape of it irregular, like it's filled with books. "What is this?" I ask. When I turn back to look at her she's looking at me nervously.

"It's all their sketchbooks," she says quietly. I frown and shake my head, trying to understand.

"If the cops find them they'll know all of the names they write under and they can charge them for every documented piece they've put up." She says it matter-of-fact, like she's reading it from a textbook.

"So you brought it here," I clarify, staring at the bag like it's filled with black tar heroin.

She nods, looking at me apprehensively. I take a breath and grab the bag by the handles, dragging it to the far side of my bed and kicking it under as far as it'll go. I'll have to deal with that later.

I tell Rose to go down to the kitchen and wait for me, and I steel myself in front of my parents' closed bedroom door, my hand poised to knock.

Tomorrow is going to be a bad day.

* * *

**I almost feel like I should apologize for being a douche and referencing the headboard but...nope. Hee. Throw some dog tags in that shot and we're there. **

**Thank you for reading! You make me smile. :)**


	11. Do the Right Thing

**Grab a drink. No, really. Do it. **

**Thank you so very much to my beta ShearEnvy. She is kind, smart and faster than a speeding bullet. Thank you to my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante. Without them, I wouldn't have the confidence to post this shit. :)**

**And thank you to shickle1970, who has been unfailingly honest. Without her this would suuuuuck. No lies. :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

"Where's your backpack?" Sam asks, between gasps for air. He drops his bag to the ground and doubles over with his hands on his knees, his head turned toward me.

I mimic his position, my breathing labored. We must have run a mile at a full-on sprint, and now it's too quiet. My ears ring and I can hear blood rushing through my body. I shake my head in response to his question.

I had to fight the instinct to grab my backpack before we dipped out, but the second I saw them take Jake down I turned and didn't look back. It's what he would have done, though. It's the way this shit goes. They may have my sketchbook and some cans of paint now, but they don't have me…yet.

_Yet__._

"Fuck," Sam says. He spits on the concrete and stands upright. "What was in it?" he asks, meaning my sketchbook. I think he's hoping that it was a new book, maybe mostly blank pages.

"Everything," I say, trying to keep the stress I'm feeling out of my voice.

His shoulders slump. We both know too well what this means. For the group of cops that make up the graffiti squad, finding a well-known writer's sketchbook is a rare gift. It's like a murder investigator finding a serial killer's diary. The thought of them poring over it like they can understand me through those pages makes me feel sick…_naked_. At least I didn't drop my wallet. I took the time to check for that while we ran. It's a small comfort now, though. It's only a matter of time until they have a name.

I know Jake won't talk. He would rather do time than rat any of us out. I would do the same for him, or any of these guys. I have. The thought makes my jaw set, and I've never felt more criminal than in that moment. I would put this first. Fuck, I _do_ put this first. My breath stutters when I think of Esme...and _Bella_.

"Damn it, Jake," Sam says, exhaling slowly. He looks away from me and down the alley, which is good. I don't want to see the look on his face right now. I'm sure it mirrors mine.

I want to turn back time so bad that my stomach aches.

There's a long pause before he speaks again. I look up at the strip of sky exposed between the buildings. It's clear, the stars bright. "You've gotta figure out someplace to hide out. You can't go back to Jake's."

I want to say "no shit" but I'm not mad at Sam, I'm mad at myself, so I stay silent. I should've trusted my gut. That nauseated feeling I had before we got to the tunnels today was my warning. I told Jake but he called me a pussy and kept going down the steps, so I stuffed the feeling and followed. I fucking knew better than that. Every fiber of my being wishes I had stayed with Bella instead of going out tonight.

My mind refocuses despite that guilt, and I formulate a plan. "Call Billy. Get all the books out of the house now in case the cops show up. I'll see if Rose can pick 'em up."

He grabs his phone but pauses, giving me a long look. "Where are you gonna go?"

I just shake my head and pull my phone out, too. The less people that know right now, the better.

Rose answers her phone mid-laugh and audibly drunk, but when I say the words that I have to say, I hear the party fade and then abruptly cut off behind her like she shut a door against the noise. She promises to help Billy get rid of anything in Jake's room and to tell Bella what's going on, and I can tell she's crying for Jake even though her words are strong.

While I'm on the phone Sam bumps my shoulder with his fist and nods down the alley. "Be careful, brother," he says quietly, before picking up his bag and walking away, careful to stay in the darkest shadows. I watch him and suddenly feel really fucking sad.

"Hello?" Rose asks, a note of panic in her voice.

"I'm still here," I say. My next words are tougher, because I have to admit that I need the kind of help that I don't like to ask for. "I don't know where to go." Something in that sentence makes my eyes almost tear up, and I try to get back to the criminal feeling I was so comfortable with a minute ago. I clench my jaw and run my hand over my face, taking a breath.

She covers the phone and mumbles something before I hear her clearly again. She recites an address and tells me where the key is hidden by the back door. "Emmett's dog is a total asshole, so watch yourself when you go in." I hear him protest in the background. "His parents sleep through everything, though, so don't worry about waking them up." I try not to think about how she knows that. She gives me a few more instructions before taking a long pause. I hear her swallow. "Be careful," she says simply, tears in her voice.

I thank her and hang up, starting the long walk to a part of town that I'm not very familiar with and don't fit in to. I take the alleys, staying alert and trying to move quickly without looking suspicious.

I just want to get somewhere inside, somewhere I can process this and regroup. Somewhere _safe_...if that's even possible at this point.

Every few minutes my hands travel to where my backpack straps should be, clutching uselessly at the fabric there and drop back to my sides. I feel lost, in the dark and alone. I walk and think about my mother which is a topic that I try to stay away from as much as possible. Esme has filled her role as much as she can, but there is still an echo in my chest where she used to reside.

My mom left. Usually I leave it at just that, not letting it get too close.

I've thought it so many times that it doesn't hurt anymore.

_She left._

That can't be undone.

But tonight, walking through quiet, unknown neighborhoods, I let my mind go where it probably shouldn't, because some part of me wants to examine how I ended up here.

My mom was so pretty and so lonely. My dad was gone for years before he died; he came home for a few weeks at a time when he could, but for the most part she was stuck waiting for a person who grew less vivid in our minds every day. In the end I'm not even sure he really wanted to come home ...and I'm not really sure that they were even in love.

There is so much that remains ambiguous. My mom didn't confide in me, so I have no idea what she felt during that time. I have no idea how she felt about me, or my dad, or our family. Maybe I would have mourned her harder if I had a memory of a perfect childhood. But mine was fairly isolated, and I have very little memory of warmth...at least from her.

But she's not here, and even though I try not to hold any of it against her, I can't help but think that if she was here things would be better - I would be better.

That's bullshit, though. You can't predict how things would be if the people around you were different, or if you were different. A thousand variables play into that. The butterfly effect or some shit. But it doesn't stop me from picturing my dad, my mom and me at the dinner table discussing prom...graduation...college. I picture her saying that she's proud of me.

I picture asking Bella to marry me and my mom being there, her happy tears. But I stop it there, hoisting up that wall again. There is a difference between idle thought and torturing yourself with things that will not happen. At least with my dad I know that my daydreams where he's there are impossible - with her they aren't impossible, she just chose a life without me in it.

I start to think about Bella instead. It's my favorite place to escape to. I'm replaying our last conversation in my head when I get to the address Rose gave me. I follow Rose's instructions and enter the middle class, nondescript home. The bulldog growls when I come in the door, but I give her one of the dog treats they told me were in a jar on the counter. After finishing it, she follows me downstairs into Emmett's bedroom, her entire body wagging with her tiny tail. His room is pretty much the whole basement and has a couch, so I turn on the lights and sit, taking in the space. His dog hops up next to me, laying her head on my thigh. I wonder why Rose doesn't like her, and then I read the name on her tag and understand. "Rosie" I almost laugh out loud.

His room is surprisingly clean, but the walls are cluttered with high school memorabilia. He's got a bulletin board full of photos, and even though I feel like I'm snooping, I get up to look at them. There's one of me, Bella, Rose and him, but there are a lot of old photos - photos of Bella and Jasper; she's in her cheerleading uniform and he's in his letter jacket. The thing that really fucking gets to me is that she looks really happy. I stare until I can't anymore, and then sit back down on the couch.

I feel hopeless, and helpless. I feel guilty and resigned, justified and wrong all at the same time. The things I do are unfair. Bella and Esme don't deserve this shit from me, but then my boys deserve my best, too. I feel like I'm being sliced down the center, and the two halves of me don't know each other anymore.

Sitting in the silence in Emmett's room, here's nothing to distract me from replaying the night over and over - the look on Jake's face when he realized he was busted, the feeling in some instinctive part of my being that I ignored…the fact that right now he's in a locked cell and I'm sitting here free. The irony of my "freedom" isn't lost on me, though. I'm homeless, hiding and I have nothing more than the clothes on my back. I check my wallet. Twenty-seven dollars and change.

My phone buzzes with calls from the boys, Leah and Billy, and I have brief conversations with all of them but nothing is resolved. None of them end with either of us feeling better. Several times I reach next to me for my backpack, realizing over and over again that I don't have a sketchbook on me. I try not to fidget. I try not to think, but my mind goes back to Jake over and over again.

Bella. Jake. Esme. Jake. My mom. Jake. My dad. Jake. Bella. Jake.

It cycles through and through.

When Emmett walks in the back door a few hours later, I'm still sitting there, awake and silent in the grey light coming in through the window. His dog leaps up and waddles up the stairs, skidding through the kitchen. When he comes down the stairs she's on his heels and jumps up onto his bed.

"Hey," he says, walking over and handing me a bag of fast food and a lidded cup with a straw. I didn't even realize I was hungry, but I eat like I'm starving, leaning back and meeting his gaze once I finally slow down. He looks tired, but he's watching me intently.

"Thanks," I say, crumpling up the wrappers and putting them in the bag. I suddenly feel like I'm intruding, with his eyes on me and the food and the stress of the night. "I should go," I say, again moving to get my backpack before realizing that it isn't there. And then I remember that I have nowhere to go. I don't even have a clean t-shirt. I look down at mine, covered in shades of grey paint.

Emmett looks at me sadly, but there's determination behind that. "You're staying here," he says, and there's no question in his voice. He gets up and opens a drawer, tossing me t-shirts and jeans that he says don't fit him anymore. One of them is a polo shirt with stripes, and I eye it dubiously. He grins. "Haven't you always wondered what you'd look like if you were a prep?"

I crack an actual smile. "No."

But I take one more glance at the pictures on his bulletin board before he shows me where the bathroom is so I can take a shower, and I'm not so sure that's true.

* * *

"What did you_ do_ to him?" I hear Rose whisper, somewhere between disdain and amusement.

"He needed clean clothes," Emmett whispers loudly.

There's a long pause. "He looks like Zach Morris." Emmett snorts loudly, and I tug at the striped polo as I open my eyes. I must have fallen asleep while we were waiting for Rose. Emmett's TV is on, the volume low.

"I'm so taking this thing off," I mumble, sitting up. Emmett wears his shirts tight, probably so his biceps look bigger. I'm not that much smaller than him, so it's snug on me, too. I feel like a tool.

"Oh whatever," Rose says, rolling her eyes. The night before comes flooding back to me, and I look at her expectantly. She's got to have news. "We got the books out," she says, all business. "Bella's dad is going down to the station to see if he can help, and Billy said he'd meet him and Bella down there." My stomach churns.

"What?" I ask, my skin going cold.

Rose frowns. "What?" she asks. "Bella's dad is a lawyer," she says after a second with a hint of "duh" in her tone.

My mouth opens and closes a few times. "_Fuck_." I don't yell, but it's emphatic. This is the sound of worlds colliding. If her dad gets involved with this, he's going to see his daughter's name reflected back at him a hundred times in photos, in sketches…and he might even see her face. I rack my brain trying to remember which drawings were in that book. There were some of her that were too realistic to mistake for someone else.

I watch the realization dawn on her face. "Dude, it's not like she'll tell her dad that you were involved. I mean, come on. Neither will Billy. You know that."

She doesn't understand. I shake my head. "They have my backpack. My _sketchbook._" Rose stares at me dumbly until the reality hits her again.

"Oh shit," she says, her eyes wide.

"If her dad sees that book, or if they even start showing the stuff they think Jake did, he's gonna realize…" The two of us share a look that conveys all of the fear and urgency of the situation.

I guess this has always been a distant fear, but I always pictured us together, married or some shit and happy and stable. In my mind, there was never a time when these two sides of my life came together.

Who the fuck was I kidding, though?

It may not happen right away, but all of this is going to end up on the table. I feel a different kind of strain than the kind I had the last time we were separated. This isn't about the past, this about a future that is rapidly unraveling…a future that maybe felt more certain to me than it really is.

My phone rings. It's a number I don't know, but something tells me I should answer.

* * *

"He insists that he did this." The way he says it lets me know that he doesn't believe it. He slaps the photo down on the table in front of me, and when I see it I flinch, despite my effort to remain stoic.

He pauses, watching my reaction and frowning. "He said he did this, too." It's the train piece. "And this." A throw-up I did in the tunnels. He doesn't speak after that, but keeps tossing the photos down in rapid succession until they overlap and start to pile up.

"I get it," I say, holding one hand over the pile so he'll stop.

I only need to glance at the photos to know what they are. They're all mine. He throws down one last piece of paper - a copy of one of the drawings in my sketchbook.

It's Bella's face.

Jake is telling them that he's "Reign". He's taking the blame, probably to keep them from coming to find me. The pathetic part is that I'm kind of pissed off about that. I get his motivation, but he's claiming my shit. My girl. My art.

But then I think about him in the jail cell and the anger dies out immediately. He's sure as hell not doing this for notoriety.

"They're going to charge him with..." he waves his hand, "innumerable felony destruction of property charges, trespassing and on top of that, aggravated assault." My head snaps up. "There's also a chance that there will be a civil case. Property owners can sue him for the graffiti removal and any permanent damage that was done."

"Assault?"

"He hit a cop," he says, deadpan.

"Oh fuck," I mumble, my head dropping down.

"Don't swear in my office, please," he says. His phone rings and he turns abruptly to answer it.

I cross my arms, staring at the intricate inlaid wood on the table. I can't believe this is where her dad works. Criminal defense must be lucrative, but I know the kind of clients he normally defends are the kind that swindle people out of millions of dollars and crazy shit like that. It's one thing to see these buildings in the skyline, but something completely different to sit where I'm sitting right now. We're on the top floor of a building downtown, and the view through the massive windows isn't one that I've seen before. From here I can see Esme's rooftop. I can see our high school, and our future college, and the ghost yard.

I can see my whole life. And to think, all I had to do was get in an elevator.

From here the ghost yard just looks like heaps of defaced, rusted metal. It looks like poverty and disrespect through this shiny window in this glossy building. Being here kind of makes me feel the same way.

I look down at the button-down shirt that Emmett gave me to wear to this appointment. Rose got my stuff from Jake's, but I'm still staying on Emmett's couch. When he found out I was coming down here today, he practically forced me into these clothes, but now that I'm here I'm actually glad that I'm wearing them. It's amazing how differently you get treated when you wear nice clothes. Mr. Swan's eyebrows almost jumped off of his forehead when he saw me, and his staff thought nothing of letting me in and offering me a seat and a glass of water and something to read while I was waiting. By the looks of it, one woman would have taken me into the bathroom and given me a blow job if I had given her the nod.

I wonder if the response would have been the same if I was wearing my usual shit, or if they knew who I really am.

He slams the phone down in its cradle and turns, waiting for me to say something.

"I thought you said Bella would be here," I say, really wishing she was nearby because even just knowing that might take the edge off of this.

"I lied," he says, looking me right in the eyes. His stare is intense, but I don't look away. He finally does, and his hard expression breaks, revealing worry that looks foreign on his features. He sits in a chair and swivels to look out the window. "I knew a little about your.." he flicks his eyes to me, "...past. I asked around when you first started dating." He says it like a secret, like something he's ashamed of.

My mind stops and starts, working through that. If he knew, why would he let us be together? Why didn't he try to stop it?

He glances at me, seeing my thought process and sighing. "She's been through a lot this year." He swallows hard, eyes liquid, though he wouldn't admit it. "There's something about watching your daughter's life fall apart that makes you sympathetic to anything, or anyone, that makes her happy."

I start to realize that Bella's father is much different than the way she perceives him. She thinks he's cold, but I think he's just pragmatic, busy, and trying to figure out how to relate to her and be a good parent at the same time.

"I haven't told her about this latest development," he says. "But now that you know, what are you going to do?"

We sit in silence while I consider that. I explained some of this to Bella, but I don't think she gets how bad this could be. Now that her dad's helping Jake, she seems to feel like there's no way anything can go wrong. I wish it was that simple.

"They'll pin him for everything. And I mean everything," he says. I look down at the pictures that carpet the table, telling my stories. Telling my _life_. I don't know what he sees, but I see every mistake I've ever made. I also see every moment of longing and happiness I've ever felt.

I think about my dad and what he would say if he knew I let Jake take the fall for me. Even if he wanted to, if I did nothing…what would he say?

"I'll help you," he says finally, and when I look up he's adopted the stern face that I imagine you would need to have this kind of job. He looks down and shuffles through the papers in front of him. "It's not going to be easy..." he looks up, and in that moment he looks like a father, "but I'll help you."

"Esme and I..." I stop, looking down when it occurs to me that she may not want to have anything to do with this. "I doubt I can afford to hire you."

When I look up he's almost smiling at me. Not quite, but as close as I've seen him get. "No charge."

My first instinct is to protest, but the look on his face makes me think better of it. "Thank you, Mr. Swan. I-"

He shakes his head, holding a hand up to stop me. "It's done. Nothing more to say."

I nod, taking a deep breath and sealing my fate. "I need a day..."

There's no mistaking the shine in his eyes this time, and he turns back to the window. "She's going to hate me for this."

The full weight of what I'm about to do to her hits me then. "Let me tell her," I say, a terrible, sad ache settling deep into my bones.

It's a feeling I think I'm going to have to get used to.

* * *

I tell Esme first.

It doesn't go well. Esme says some things to Bella's dad that I've never heard come out of her mouth, but after we explain the situation she apologizes and hugs him in the living room of her loft while he awkwardly pats her back. Because he's not making me do it. He's helping me. The outcome would have been the same if he hadn't gotten involved. I would have figured out what Jake was up to and turned myself in. At least this way I have a decent lawyer.

I apologize to Esme and ask her to forgive me. The conversation is brief and intense and it ends in her tears. I'm saving mine, though. I'm not sure I'll be able to stop once I start.

Mr. Swan agrees to let me spend the night with Bella. He'll bring me in first thing in the morning. I climb the steps to her room slowly.

Telling her, watching her expression go from concern to anger to devastation is so painful that I stop breathing.

She hits me, her fists against my chest while I try to pull her closer. Then it's her palms trying to push me away.

That's when frustrated tears well up in my eyes, because I don't have enough time - I want to be close to her up until the second that I can't anymore. "Bella, please," I plead, grabbing both of her wrists and pulling her to me while she strains to get away. She turns her head, a jagged sob climbing out of her chest as she stops pulling against my hold on her.

"No. No no no no..." she chants, sobbing, her face still turned away from me. I tug on her wrists and she collapses into me this time, burying her face in my shirt. I let go of her, and the hands that pushed me away now grasp to pull me closer. Moving backwards, I sit on the edge of her bed and she moves to straddle my lap, still choking on the word "no" as she wraps herself around me, her face pressed against my neck. I stare over her shoulder and rock us back and forth, my tears landing in her hair. I want to be able to see her face but I'm unwilling to loosen my grip even a little.

It's hours before we back up far enough to undress each other, her smooth skin finally on mine. Tonight there's no space between us, there's only a sharp mixture of pleasure and pain. I can't hold back the sob in my throat while I watch her brow furrow as she moves over me, because I am going to miss her so much. She slows her movements to a stop and holds my face in her hands, whispering things that I need to hear, between kisses and barely measured sobs that I haven't felt since I was I kid. The harder I cry, the more frantically she tries to calm me, wiping tears from my cheeks and running her fingers through my hair, down my back. She switches between holding me tight and leaning back to look at my face, her heartbreak matching my own.

I've never been this scared before.

I've never had this much to lose.

When I start to calm down, she sits back, running her hands over my chest and stomach. I mimic her movements, reluctant to take my eyes from hers but desperate to see every inch of her...to brand her in my memory. I want to tell her how perfect she is, how beautiful her skin is and how much I will miss her, but words fail me like they usually do.

I show her instead.

I hold her so tight, moving her body in controlled, intense pulses and lifting my hips to get closer. I need to get closer. The nails that trailed lightly down my back press harder, and I can feel the scratches forming but I want more…closer…I want to feel that pain and I want her to, too. My teeth are at her neck, lightly at first but she wants the bite, whispering "harder" and "fuck" and "I love you". I come, crying against her neck, and she follows, her eyes welling up before she squeezes them shut. I watch her face intently, memorizing each expression like I'm taking a snapshot.

I hope I can remember how this feels.

We don't sleep. I play with the ends of her hair while she talks, and I touch every inch of her that I can without taking my eyes off of her face. There are more tears but they slide out easily now, without agony. I've never felt anything so honest, being able to let someone see you cry without shame. I don't even have the urge to hide my face from her. I want her to see it all.

The words we speak are important, but more important are the unsaid things layered over and under them.

As the sky lightens, we make promises that I hope we keep, and after a while we talk less and kiss more. She guides me inside of her one last time, this time without words - just heavy moans and the slow, steady rolling of her hips under my hands.

I've never hated the rising sun this much, stripping me of my time, my girl. She gets out of bed first, and I steal her pillow, crushing it to my chest and watching her walk to her closet and disappear inside. I don't breathe until she comes back into sight.

I didn't think I had tears left.

We say goodbye there, in her bed, and after that we get dressed because there's nothing left to say.

She said she wouldn't be hard on her dad, but she can't look at him when we pass him to go down to his car. Mine is still parked at Jake's, and I give her my key so she can move it. My lips barely touch hers, and we exchange a quiet "I love you".

I start to walk away but turn back and walk toward her, reaching up and pulling my dad's dog tags over my head for the first time in almost five years. At least, it's the first time I've done it voluntarily.

She inhales and holds the breath, shutting her eyes as I press the chain into her palm and close her fingers around them. They would take them from me anyway and it's all I have of his that means anything. This way I'll know they're safe. I taste salty tears when I kiss her one last time.

Bella's mom stands with her arm around her as we back out of the driveway, and just before we're out of sight I see Bella's face break into an agonized cry that I can't hear.

I should probably try to enjoy my last few moments of freedom, but all I can see is that look on her face.

* * *

**This was coming. We knew. That doesn't make it easier, though, does it? **

**I'm available for hugs and bitchslaps. Find me on twitter. (at)sweetlolapop**

**Thank you for reading, my friends. I lurve you.**


	12. Accept

**Grab a cocktail. **

**Thank you to ShearEnvy for being great at what she does, and for being a gem on top of that. Thanks to stephk0525 and ilsuocantante for encouraging flails and smooshes.**

**Thank you to shickle1970 for making me see the light. :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

Right after everything went down, everyone cut me a lot of slack. They spoke softly and gently. They were forgiving, understanding and would put up with almost anything I put out there.

I knew the time would come when they would start telling me the truth again.

I also knew that part would really fucking suck.

Apparently I'm in the second stage of grief, which is anger. I cried the first week, but then I actually felt okay. I didn't want to talk to my dad about Edward's case, though, and when I would go see him on visitor's day I kept the conversations light and happy. I talked so I didn't have to think – didn't have to hear him say things that I didn't want to hear.

In hindsight, the underlying feeling I had that whole time was of a jack in the box being slowly wound up. Not even I could predict how ugly the fallout would be.

One morning I woke up angry. Not just angry..._irate_.

_I press the pillow so hard against my face that I can't take a breath, my fingers doing their best to tear through the thick fabric. My fingernails ache and my muscles do, too. I whip the pillow away from me, getting no release from screaming into it. None from punching my mattress. I can't cry, and that enrages me further. _

_I can't do this right. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to. _

_My chest moves like I've been running, my breaths fast and deep__.__I look around the room, looking for something that will give me the relief I need. I smile when I remember the bag __under my bed, jumping up and pulling it out, dragging it into the center __of __my room. I drop to my knees, unzipping it and staring at the haphazard pile of books that symbolize everything that's been taken from me. _

_I pull the one closest to the top, recognizing Edward's style and attention to detail. Flipping the pages, I observe them blankly until I get to a series of heart sketches that he did. Whole hearts. Hearts shattered and put back together with scotch tape. Page after page after page. _

_I flip faster, grinding my teeth, every muscle in my body tensed. _

_Rrrrrrrip__._

_The first tear is an accident. "Fuck," I say, pressing it down so it looks like it didn't happen. But when I try to turn the page it tears further...and further. And then I'm ripping it out, and the next one, grabbing handfuls at a time __and __viciously yanking them away from the binding until they are strewn on the floor and my fingers are sliced with paper cuts. A deep gouge on my palm stings badly, but I like it, like I'm __finally __feeling what I should be__. I throw the empty cover hard at the wall, and pick up the next book. _

_And the next._

_And the next, my pace __never abating as I work my way through them__. _

"_Bella!" Rose says when she comes to my door, flinging it open when she sees what I'm doing. She yells for my dad and wraps her arms around me from behind to stop me. I still for a moment, pages clutched in my right hand so hard that my knuckles ache. _

"_Get off me," I yell, and her arms loosen and she lets me pull away. The look on her face just pisses me off more. It's too knowing. Fucking stupid psychiatrist father. _

_My dad trips into the room, his jaw dropping as he looks at the mess, the bag of books still half full in the center of my room. "What the...?"_

_I storm of out of the room, __going down to get a garbage bag out of the kitchen__ so I don't have to hear her explain what's going on. They're both still in my room when I get back, watching as I start shoving the torn papers into the bag, my hands smearing and dotting the paper with blood. I work my way across the floor, yelling at Rose when she tries to reason with me. My dad stays silent, maybe because I shouldn't have this shit in the first place, or maybe because I'm scaring him. _

_After I get all the paper and the books in the bag, I can hardly move it, and he steps forward, carefully removing it from my grip. He nods at Rose and she pushes me into the bathroom, finding hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball to clean up my cuts. _

_Her hands shake, but mine are steady. Some of the scratches extend down my forearms and I look at them, detached, until I catch her eyeing me. I focus on the blank wall instead, avoiding the mirror behind me__ a__s well as__ the mirror that is Rose's face._

* * *

It's August, and the heat hangs heavy in the air, dense with humidity. I hear Rose walk out the back door but pretend I'm asleep so she'll leave me the hell alone. She kicks my chair and startles me, though, and I give myself away.

Judging from the position of the sun, she probably just got back from visiting Edward.

"I probably should try to say this nicely," she says in a sarcastic tone, her form casting a shadow over where I'm laying on a pool chair. "But I've gotta be honest, I'm really fucking sick of tiptoeing around you." Hostility winds through her stance and voice, but I just roll my eyes behind my sunglasses. "This whole aloof bitch act is getting really old, Bella."

I find the "bitch" comment kind of funny coming from Rose, but I don't laugh. I sit up and grab the drink on the table next to me. It's warm from the sun but I sip at it anyway, enjoying the vodka burn in my throat.

"What is your problem?" Rose spits, when I don't respond.

"I don't have one," I say dully, still sipping off the cocktail, not making eye contact with her.

"How long are you going to keep doing this?" Her voice breaks, and I ignore it. I've had enough tears to last me a lifetime. "You didn't show up again, and you haven't written..." She laughs once, and it's infused with hurt and disbelief. "I feel like I don't even know you."

I don't want to get into it today. My mind leaps around, not resting on one topic for too long. I focus on the parts of her words that I can handle.

"Fuck you," she says after a minute.

I laugh and turn my head toward her, making eye contact for the first time. "Fuck you back."

She stares at me for so long that I get uncomfortable. She turns and walks in the house, and I settle back in my chair, watching the tie-dye patterns that the sun creates behind my eyelids.

The ice cubes and water hit my face, chest and stomach at the same time. I fly out of the chair, sputtering - every muscle in my body tense from the shock. My breath comes in gasps and I rip my sunglasses off of my face, the lenses covered in drops of water. "What the fuck, Rose?"

She slams the pitcher down on the table. "_Snap out of it_," she yells, and when I don't respond she shakes her head. "You're so selfish." She takes a step toward me, her finger jabbing at my chest. I back up. "And mean." Another step, another jab. "And all of us are tired of it. I'm tired of crying _for_ you." I get the sense that she means that she's crying tears that are supposed to be mine, and that just pisses me off further. She can't understand how I feel.

I stare her down while I wait for her to say it. My chest heaves and her finger presses into the flesh there.

"I thought you loved him," she says this expectantly, almost with eagerness, like it might be the thing that breaks me down. I almost laugh.

That's the thing that no one gets. This isn't a fight that he and I are having. It's not something that I can fix.

I have no choice here.

_He did__n't__ give me a choice_.

So here I am, faced with a loss that hurts so bad I can't even begin to deal with it.

I give myself a second, waiting for the natural response to her words that doesn't come—that hasn't come in the last few weeks. I only have my anger.

"You know what _I_ can't believe?" I say, moving forward until we're standing uncomfortably close. I see her fight the urge to step back, but she stands her ground. "I can't believe that I let myself fall in love with someone like him. I can't believe that I was so _stupid_ to think that we would survive this. Because we won't."

She tries reason. "Bella we don't even know how long he'll be-"

I shake my head, backing up and turning away from her.

"He cried this time," she says quietly, and now she's not provoking me, she's just being honest. It's worse. My mind flashes to what she's describing and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to block out the memory.

"He's in _jail_, Rose. We can never be normal. After this he won't even be able to _vote_, let alone find a job."

Her chin trembles, but she fixes me with a gaze that at one time would have made me wither and die. "I hope you realize what you're doing."

She walks in the house and even through the closed door I can hear her slamming doors and swearing. And then she's gone. _Really gone._ The guest room is cleared out, and there are spaces in my room where her clothes were tossed on the floor.

Finally it's quiet again, but as usual I don't find peace in it, because I can't find the numbness that I crave. Behind the anger lurks something so dark that I can't face it, so I cling to rage desperately, wanting it so white hot that I can't feel anything that comes after it.

I should be so lucky.

* * *

My dad doesn't understand the way I'm acting, but soon stops asking me the questions that hang in the air, unanswered. Rose, even though she won't speak to me after our fight, pulls out the big guns - sending in Emmett, then Sam and Jared, and finally Esme to try to talk to me. I have to work harder and harder to keep up the front, but it stays in place, cold and hard.

Finally, I write Edward a letter.

"What does it say?" my dad asks, staring at the plain white envelope in his hand apprehensively.

When I don't answer right away he looks up, a frown already in place. He knows what it says. His eyes move over my face, and he sighs, seeming tired and frustrated.

"Let me explain something to you," he says, sitting in his favorite chair and gesturing for me to sit on the couch.

I don't move, standing with my arms crossed. His expression hardens, and I see some of myself reflected back to me. "_Sit_," he says coldly, and I comply with a huff, but something in me recoils. I have a bad feeling about this conversation.

"What Edward is going through," I turn my head to look out the front window at the sound of his name, and I hear him get up. He sits next to me on the couch, right in my line of sight. "You _will listen_ to this, Bella," he says seriously, and I don't make any move to respond, but I don't turn my head either. "I realize that when he turned himself in, it could not only potentially ruin his life, but also yours."

I open my mouth to say something snide, but the look on his face stops me.

"But it was also the right thing to do, and there is more value in that than I can express to you, because you don't know how ugly people can be." I frown and he pauses, cringing. "Or maybe you do." He closes his eyes for a second, regrouping. "Most of the time, I defend people who are not only guilty, but who take down everyone they can with them, out of spite or in an attempt to alleviate some of their own responsibility. And these are the people who run this city. Edward…to find someone who has had such a rough life but then really found happiness, and to watch him still be willing to sacrifice himself for his friend…that's something rare."

He looks down at the envelope in his hands. "I know you're angry, but imagine how he feels. He may act like he's tough and can handle anything they throw at him but being stuck in general population with men who have killed people is enough to scare even the toughest person. He's afraid, he's alone, and now he's heartbroken, too."

I've never had this kind of conversation with my dad before. I've never really heard him speak so freely about emotion, or…anything, really. I'm stunned into silence, and my entire body aches with a sadness that I'm going to drown in. I'm sure of it.

"I think what you need to focus on is getting through this, and you need to decide whether or not you want to be with him when this is over. Because if you do you can't skip this part, Bella. And it's like that with every relationship you'll ever have. You take both the best and worst of people. And that's what they do for you, too."

He tosses the envelope on the coffee table, and we both stare at it for a minute.

"I can't give this to him. Not now. If you want to mail it to him, that's your call, but…I can't."

I feel him leave, but my eyes are closed against what I know is coming.

This is where the anger breaks ... where I break.

* * *

The rooms that I get to meet him in are bare with florescent lights and hard plastic chairs and tables. The guard walks him in and eyes me, but Edward doesn't. He just sits in the chair across from me, his eyes cast downward. The guard tells us we have an hour and Edward looks up at him, surprised. I wonder what strings my dad pulled to make that happen. The guard leaves, and then it's just us, in this terrible room in this terrible place.

He looks bad, or as bad as someone like him can look. I can tell he hasn't been sleeping, and probably not eating enough, either. He rests his elbows on his knees and stares at the floor. He has heavy scruff on his jaw, and his eyes are red.

"Hi," I whisper, apprehensive about making a sound in this quiet room.

He clears his throat before he speaks. "Hi." It's rough, like he hasn't used his voice in weeks. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep composure. I hadn't really thought about the fact that he has no one to talk to in here. My dad told me that he and Jake aren't being housed in the same place. It's likely that he'll do more time than Edward, for the aggravated assault alone. My dad has been looking for a way to help him but with his record, they are mostly relying on the leniency of the DA and the judge. Rose's face flashes through my mind. She's right. I am selfish. All this time I've been focused on what's been done to me, and I didn't even think to ask if she's okay with everything that's happening. Two of her best friends are in jail, and her other best friend is acting like a heartless bitch.

"I'm so sorry." I choke out the words, watching his face change. He bounces his knee and looks off to the side, his jaw clenched. I watch a tear slide down his cheek. "I love you. I didn't…I don't know what I'm doing. I'm so fucked up."

I'm crying, and I need to be closer, so I shift my chair nearer to his and I grab his hands. His head is still turned away from me, but when I squeeze his fingers with mine, he squeezes back.

"I don't know how to be without you. I'm afraid I can't."

He shakes his head and I don't know why, but I don't ask. I watch as more tears roll down his face running my hands over his and then over his forearms, bare where he rolled up the sleeves of his orange jumpsuit. He groans at the touch, his head dropping and his eyes closed, and when he looks up we both stop moving…breathing…our gazes locked. In one swift movement he pulls me and my chair forward until my face is in his hands and his lips are on mine and it's like I can finally fucking breathe again.

I want to climb on top of him, but there are strict rules about sexual contact. I hope the kissing doesn't count. I'll take what I can get, no matter how little. I just want to be able to feel that he's real.

We rest our foreheads together, kiss each other's faces, lips and hands for so long that I check the clock on the wall and I'm not surprised to see that half an hour has already gone by.

"We need to talk," I say, sitting back reluctantly, because I can't walk out of here without saying what I need to say…without hearing more of his voice.

His eyes follow mine to the clock, which has a metal cage bolted around it, and he looks back at me sadly. It's an appropriate metaphor.

He nods minutely, his hand on my cheek. I push into his touch, relishing the feel of his skin on mine. "I'm so angry," I admit.

"At me," he says. It's not a question.

I nod. "At myself, too. For knowing what could happen and letting myself fall in love with you anyway."

I didn't think it was possible for him to look sadder but he does. "Ouch," he murmurs, looking down.

"I don't regret it. That's not what I mean," I say quickly. "I just want you to know that I see my part in it. I should have demanded that you stop. _That_ was my fault." I sigh, feeling my body lighten as I get this out but also worried that I'm laying too much on him. "A part of me really loves that, though. I wanted you to be that rebel...criminal...whatever." He furrows his brow. "I know it's wrong, but I'm trying to be honest."

It takes him a minute to respond. "I want to be honest, too." He pauses. His thumb rubs over a spot on my wrist. "You could have demanded, and I wouldn't have stopped."

That sinks in slowly and painfully, as the truth usually does. I guess I probably didn't give him an ultimatum because I knew I would lose. "Because it's more important than us," I say quietly.

"No," he says, his eyes on mine. "No," he repeats. "Because I'm a fucking idiot." He hangs his head, and I run my fingers over his arms again.

"Do you think this will change that?" I look around the room, looking for even a small sign of comfort in this place.

There is none.

He nods, and I can tell he's sincere, but I wonder if it will be different when this is over – just a bad memory that becomes less vivid over time.

"Promise me," I say. "Because I can't do this again."

His eyes water and he kisses me, his breath shaky.

"Say it," I say, watching his lips press against my knuckles.

"I promise," he says in his rough voice. He kisses the inside of my wrist. "Please just… don't shut me out again." My heart sinks.

"I'm so sorry," I say again, and I hope he can see how much I mean it.

We move on to other topics, and he tells me about seeing Esme last week. "She brought…" he turns his head again, exhaling a breath and visibly trying to get it together, "a letter from my mom." The words spill out fast and quiet, and his voice is strained.

"What did it say?" I ask, and then immediately regret it because he ducks his head down, his face in his hands. I don't ask him any more questions. I just run my hands over every part of him that I'm allowed to, trying to control my own emotions.

He needs me now, and I need to be strong. But when I get into the car, it's a long time before I'm able to stop crying long enough to drive.

* * *

My first day of classes flies by, and I'm walking to my car when I hear a familiar voice say my name. Jasper is sitting on a ledge but hops down when we make eye contact. I smile at how long his hair is, bleached blonder by the sun. I used to love how he looked at the end of summer.

_Wait._

"What are you doing here?" I ask, looking around like maybe I've landed in an alternate universe. He should be in San Diego.

He smiles, furrowing his brow like I'm missing something major. "Um…" he trails off, "I guess I thought you knew. I mean, Emmett and Rose are around all the time."

My smile falls slightly, or at least I doubt it's convincing anymore. I shake my head to indicate that I still don't know what he's talking about. "Rose…?" They hate each other. Always have.

"Alice is pregnant." He swallows hard, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Like, really pregnant." He pulls out his phone and scrolls through pictures. If I wasn't so shocked I would laugh. Her belly is comically disproportionate to the rest of her. In each photo she's smiling - not the sarcastic smile that I remember but a genuine one. "So we're staying in town, at least for now. I didn't get the QB position here, but I probably wasn't going to get to play in San Diego anyway."

"Wow," I say, because I don't have any other words. He's going to be a father, and he's speaking casually about football, like it isn't his life's dream anymore. I glance at the content look on his face, wondering where he's hiding his ego these days. He scrolls past a picture of Alice and Rose. Rose has her hand on Alice's belly. He clears the screen at my sharp intake of breath.

Rose and I are talking again, but it's been weird at best. She still hasn't really forgiven me. She moved into Edward's old room in Esme's loft instead of coming back to my house, although I can't blame her for that.

I run through the conversations that we had when I met her and Emmett for coffee yesterday. There wasn't even a hint that she had become close with Alice... or Jasper, for that matter.

"Hey," he says, and he reaches out to touch my arm but thinks better of it. "I'm sorry about, um, Edward." My eyes widen, and I take a step back. This is too much.

"Thanks. Yeah. I'll see you around, okay?" I turn and start to leave but stop abruptly, closing my eyes and taking a second to gather my wits before I turn. He's still standing there, watching me with a sad, concerned look on his face. "Congratulations, Jasper," I say sincerely, before I walk away.

* * *

Rose shows up at my house not long after I get home. I've got my books spread out on my bed, but I'm just laying there staring at the ceiling. I know it's her before she gets to my door. She shuts it behind her, and I hear her drop her bag and kick off her shoes. The bed sinks beside me and for a second it feels like everything is back to normal, back to before all of this went to shit.

But only for a second.

It's still pretty early and my parents probably won't be home for hours, but I still gape at her when she flicks the lighter, holding the flame to the joint between her lips. She puffs on it, ignoring my stare. Instead of protesting, though, I sit up on my elbows and reach in my bedside table for the ashtray I keep stuffed in the back.

She takes it and balances it on her stomach while I lay back down, watching the smoke rise.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Pass._

"What does it feel like?" she asks me. I smile sadly at the question. It's the one we always ask each other when things are really bad.

I hit the joint, trying to pinpoint exactly what this emotion is. "It feels like I'll never be happy again."

We're quiet for a minute.

"I get that," she says quietly.

"Do you forgive me?" I ask, sitting very still to hear her reply.

"I love you. I'll always forgive you," she says, her tone matter of fact.

My hand shakes as I bring the joint to my lips.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Pass._

"I love you, too," I say. There is more to say, but I don't think we need to discuss everything right this second. I'm just content knowing that she and I are good. While we lie there, I run through the day in my head. When I hit my encounter with Jasper, I roll onto my side to face her with my hand propped under my head. "Alice? Really?"

She laughs, her eyes bloodshot from the weed and her smile easy. I missed this. She mimics my position, setting the ashtray between us. "It's like without her stupid uniform on, her bitchiness is almost kinda funny. Or maybe it's just that she looks like she swallowed a basketball." We laugh.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Pass._

"I should've told you, but I wasn't sure how you'd react. I mean, even though I know you don't have feelings for Jasper anymore, it's still weird."

"He seems different."

She nods. "I hate him slightly less than I used to." She grimaces. "But only slightly."

"Did he call you and tell you that I ran into him and acted like a total freak?"

"No!" she says loudly, but then she grins. "He called Emmett and told him you acted like a total freak." I push her and she flops back on the bed, laughing.

Our conversation is light after that, but eventually it circles back to Edward. I saw him two days ago - things are good with us, but I ache all the time. His trial is coming up in a few weeks and I'm nervous. We've been apart for less than two months, but I feel like it's been two years. After Rose leaves I continue to lay on my bed, working through the thought process that I go through so many times a day that I can't count.

My dad tells me not to dwell on the unknown, but he has been really honest with me about potential outcomes. I try to imagine what it would be like if he hadn't gotten busted - what our first day of college together would have been like. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can remember what it felt like to have his arms around me, his lips on mine. I wear his dad's dog tags around my neck but they press against the wrong skin, and sometimes when I see them in the mirror after I shower they make me miss him more.

The worst things cross my mind, too...the most selfish things. Like, I won't have sex until he gets out. What if it's a year, or three years? What if it's longer? What if he gets out and he's different. He might not want me anymore.

I find myself praying...bargaining for his safety and his release. Part of me wants the trial to be over already, but another part is so afraid of knowing how long I have to be without him that I dread it.

The thing I wonder most, though, is what he's thinking about at this very moment. I hope that he's thinking about me, but I'm stuck with no way to know if it's true. I'm plagued by longing for him, both physical and emotional ...and I don't see that changing any time soon.

I pick up my phone and scroll to his name, picturing his silent phone, battery dead, in a box somewhere. I've never felt so lonely, so even though I know he won't get it, I still type out the three word text and hit send.

Because he'll get it someday.

* * *

**I mourn with you.**

**Thank you for reading. I love you guys. xo**


	13. Clink

**My beta is the best beta. Her name is ShearEnvy. My prereaders are stephk0525 and ilsuocantante and I will snuggle them in the RL very soon. I will also snuggle shickle1970. And many more. Hope you guys like hugs.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

"This is a collect call from a correctional facility. Please press one to accept the charges."

There's a beep, and then I hear her voice, hesitant and just barely audible over the buzz and crackle of the shitty phone line. "Edward?"

I exhale in relief. There's nothing worse than when her voicemail picks up.

"Hey," I say quietly, hoping to disguise the desperation that's weighing heavy on me. Some days are like this-like it'll never end.

"I miss you so much." I can barely hear her.

"You gotta speak up, babe," I say, and she clears her throat and repeats herself. "I miss you, too. How are you?" That question is so fucking inadequate, but I don't know how to ask what I need to know today. Today I need to hear that she loves me more than she's ever loved anybody, that she'll never leave me…that she'll wait.

But I can't just ask her to tell me that.

"I'm okay. School is harder than I thought, but I'm doing well, and I'm still interning with my dad, mostly just to keep myself busy…" she pauses, and I want to tell her to keep talking, because there's never enough time on these calls. "My parents are driving me insane, though. I might look for an apartment or something…" she trails off, "It's Edward," she says to someone in the background. I hear a male voice respond.

My heart aches and I rub my chest, leaning forward to rest my forehead on the wall. "Where are you?"

She hesitates. "I'm at Jasper and Alice's. Wait until you see Claire. She's perfect," she gushes. Her tone is deliberate. She wants me to know that she's there to see the baby, but all I can think is that it was him in the background.

I close my eyes, swallowing back some shit I know is irrational. He's got a fucking kid. She told me all about it a few weeks ago. After that visit I had nightmares about getting out of here and finding out that Bella was pregnant with his child.

It takes me too long to respond, and I hear her breathing shift and I hear a door slam. It sounds like she went outside.

"Edward, you know it's not like that."

I press one fist into the wall slowly, putting enough pressure behind it to make my knuckles sting. "I know," I say, exhaling and letting my body relax because I _do _know. I just want to get the fuck out of here. I don't want to just listen to her living her life, getting pieces of it from phone calls and letters and chaperoned touches and words.

"But how are you?" she asks, like it's really important.

"I'm good," I lie. "Bored." That's true. "Garrett is making me lift weights all the time. I'm gonna be as big as Jake by the time I get out of here," I joke halfheartedly, feeling the familiar pang of guilt I get when I think about him. I shake my head to make it fade. "I think you'll like it, though."

I rub one hand under my shirt, wishing it was hers. She once told me how she liked to watch my shoulders flex while I was on top of her. I tighten them unconsciously, trying to gather the balls to say what I want to say. "I miss your skin...the way you taste..." I lower my voice further, hoping she can still hear me. "I want you so bad it hurts."

She makes this small, moaning exhale that I can barely hear. It's a sound that I didn't even know I missed. I know exactly what to do to get her to make that sound. The thought makes me take a deep breath. "God, you have no idea," she says.

"What?" I ask, needing her to say it.

It takes her a second, and she speaks quieter, maybe walking further away from the house...from _Jasper_. I push that thought away and concentrate on her words. "You have no idea how much I miss just touching you. I miss that spot under your hipbone where you're ticklish," she breathes, and I press the earpiece closer while I flatten my free hand to my other ear, closing my eyes so I can just feel this. "I miss your hands on my hips...that freckle under your left shoulder blade…your arms around me all night." We simultaneously take a breath. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too." I'm jolted out of the moment by one of the guards tapping a nightstick on the wall. He taps the spot on his wrist where a watch would be if he was wearing one. "Fuck, I've gotta go, babe," I say. For a moment I regret calling Esme before I called her.

There's never enough time.

"Okay I'll see you next week," she says, "and I sent you something. Hopefully they'll let it through. I love you," she says again.

"I love you, too, Bella," I say.

There's a long pause before she speaks again, and when she does her voice is choked, catching in her throat. "You have to hang up first, because I can't."

The guard claps his hands, and I hear hurried goodbyes echo around the hallway. I want to tell her I love her again, but there are only so many times you can say that in one conversation. "Okay...bye. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye."

I hang up slowly, hoping she's not listening to the line disconnect, but sure that I would be if it was me on the other end of that phone.

* * *

I was right to be paranoid. They had been watching me for a long time, just waiting for their chance to find the kid behind the countless photos that were submitted as evidence during the trial. In the end, Mr. Swan was able to convince the DA to reduce the charges so I just got one year. Honestly, when we looked at the amount of property damage I was charged with, it really does feel like I _just_ got one year. Luckily I had almost two months time served at the time I was sentenced, so I'll get out early next summer.

It feels like a fucking lifetime from now, though.

Prison is waiting, that's pretty much it. Some people are waiting to start their lives over, some to get back to their fix, some can't wait to return to whatever got them in here in the first place and some just want to see their families…but everyone here is just biding time.

It feels like we live in an alternate reality. I'm aware that time passes, but the minutes have no context. We measure time in months. It's all time served, sentences and parole hearings.

Garrett taught me not to watch the clock. He's my cell mate, and the only person here that I trust. After I was processed through the system and it was determined that I didn't need to be in high security, I found myself standing in front of a massive red-haired dude with a big smile. I hated him at first, because he just fucking watched me, like he was waiting for something.

"_What's your girl's name?" _

_I've managed to ignore him for the last hour, but the mention of her makes me snap. "Just leave me the fuck alone, man." After court a week ago, I was transferred here. This is the most I've said to him since then. _

_This dude seems hell-bent on pushing my buttons. _

"_No shit! He speaks!" He laughs, not unkindly. "I was starting to wonder if you understood English." I go back to ignoring him. He laughs again, but it dies out when he sees that I'm not going to start talking. _

_I stare at the lined page in the journal they let me have. I asked for unlined paper and the guard just laughed. _

"_You know every single person in here has a shitty story. A family. Someone that they can't stand being away from." He stands up, turning to face the barred side of our room. It looks out to a concrete hallway. "What makes you so fucking special?"_

_Instead of "you", I hear "her" and anger snakes through me, striking hot._

_I shove him from behind, a bitch move, but my body acts before my brain. The fact that he's a head taller than me and has probably got thirty pounds of muscle and ten years of fighting experience on me registers when he only takes one stuttered step forward and then turns, his jaw set. _

_His forearm cuts off my airway and my head slams into the wall next to the beds. Once I figure out I'm totally immobilized I stop struggling, and he lets up just enough to let me take one labored breath. "Don't do that again," he warns__.__H__e must __notice __that I'm trying to concede with my eyes because he drops his arm and I double over, taking measured, relieved breaths. _

_I wait for a guard to show up, but it's quiet on the block. Someone coughs, and I hear the distant buzz of an electronic lock unlatching. He sits back down on the metal bench that's bolted to the wall and watches me intensely. After a minute I drop back to sit on the bed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. _

_Clearing my scratchy throat, I finally look up at him, really looking at him for maybe the first time since we've been in here together. I'm a little surprised to find no animosity there. He looks concerned, and curious. _

"_Sorry." _

_His genuine smile makes me almost more uncomfortable than him trying to choke me out._

"_It's alright…it was just a reflex." He shrugs, and I'm torn between being disturbed at his nonchalance about the fact that he literally could have just killed me, and feeling grateful toward him for not doing it. As much as I promised myself that I'd keep my head down in here, there's something about Garrett that isn't bad. _

_But then, I know nothing about him._

"_What are you in for?" I ask._

"_Weed, man," he says simply. I frown, because it seems like overkill for him to be in here with people who ran meth labs and shit. "I mean it was a _lot_ of weed, I'll give them that, but there are so many inequities in the justice system…you know that James prick?" I nod. I ignore pretty much everyone, but got a bad vibe off that guy. "That fucker raped a seventeen year old girl—you don't even want to know the details. __H__e's getting out after 35 months time served. Think if that was your sister, or your mother, or your girlfriend." His face mirrors my own, both of us making fists and glaring at the ground. I'm imagining beating the shit out of that asshole, and I'm sure Garrett is doing the same. _

_He eyes me then, frowning. "Look, you're new__,__s__o let me give you some advice." I nod. "There are a lot of people in here who have done a lot of really fucked up things, but don't think you're gonna become some vigilante for justice. That James fucker deserves to have his balls hacked off, but you've gotta ignore trash like him. If you don't, not even I'll be able to help you out." _

I decide not to find out what he means by that, and luckily, we end up having more in common than I initially thought.

It's my third month here, and Garrett can pinpoint my mood before I even get out of bed. It's a symptom of forced closeness and his observant nature. He's good at determining when I'm too getting far into my own thoughts and pushes me to go outside or lift weights to get my head right.

He's a good person, edged rough like someone who has been through this a few times- which he has- but he talks about his wife and kids like someone who really loves them would. I find out that people like him are a rarity in here, though, and that I'm lucky that I landed where I did.

I'm not sure what would happen if I got stuck in a cell with someone like James.

* * *

My mom found Jesus. At least, that's what her letter said. She says she prays for me every day and hopes that I will find faith while I'm here.

I haven't, personally, but from what I can tell it's not uncommon for people to discover religion when they're locked up. There must be an enormous release in being told that you're forgiven for everything you've ever done. Maybe it's in response to the fallibility of the legal system. There's no omnipotent judge that sees the whole truth or your true intentions. If there is a God that judges us when we die, all I know is I don't see him on earth in this prison. At least, I didn't see him in the eyes of the old guy in the robe with the gavel.

All I see are flawed humans judging flawed humans.

There's so much bad in the world that goes either unnoticed or unpunished. I feel like I deserve so much more than my relatively short sentence because for every thing I got caught doing, there were a hundred more that I got away with.

This kid, Benjamin, has a bible with him all the time, spread open on his lap while he pushes his glasses up his nose over and over again as he reads. He killed his fiancée, who was in the passenger seat while he was driving drunk. It was two weeks before their wedding. He speaks very little to anyone except his God, who he whispers to with his hands clasped together.

I've overheard him asking for absolution, but I wonder if he's forgiven himself.

I wonder if my mom has forgiven herself.

I consider throwing away her letter, because I'm aware of it all the time, tucked into the back of my notebook. I haven't responded because I'm not ready to forgive her. Or maybe it's the things she said about my dad-things that she calls "ugly truths".

That part bothers me more than anything else she wrote, because I want to understand her reasons for telling me her version of my father. I guess maybe it's her way of justifying why she left, but if that's true, her logic is fucked. How does accusing my dad of being adulterous and absentee absolve her of leaving me, too?

_It doesn't. And you were just a kid._

Those words, which I've been repeating to myself since I got the letter, don't make me feel better, though. They make me want to let her in on a few "ugly truths" of my own. It takes a lot for me to put that bitterness onto paper but not put it in an envelope and send it.

She said she's happy now. She's got a church and a job and, as she puts it, "someone new in her life". I try to be happy for her, but honestly, I don't try very hard.

The only real surprise is the check that was folded into the pages-a check that seems too small in size to accommodate the zeros printed on it. Esme tells me that she knew my mom got a payout after my dad died, but after she left she didn't expect that I would see any of it. I was too young to know about death benefits and life insurance policies back then, not that I know much more now. The realization makes me sick, because she left Esme to struggle. Not just with money, but with who I was…who I _am_. Now I realize I'm just a kid who lost a father that he didn't really have to begin with, but _she_ was there.

_She_ was what I really lost.

Fuck the money.

_I show Esme the check, and her face goes white. She looks up at me, her jaw locked against the tears that are threatening to fall. _

"_Bet that eased her guilty conscience," I spit, glaring at the floor. "I don't want it."_

"_Edward-" she starts, but I cut her off, speaking fast._

"_I want you to have it. You've done so much for me…" I grab her hand, crumpling the check into it and sitting back without looking her in the eye. _

_She's quiet for a minute. "Hey," she says, setting the check far away from us on the table and reaching for my hand. "I understand why you would want that, but I can't take it. Because this__could mean a whole different life for you when you get out of here. You could do anything you want. Go to art school…buy a house…buy a ring for Bella…anything." I look up at the mention of the ring, and her expression is so intense that I squeeze her hand. _

_She closes her eyes and takes a breath. "All I'm saying is…when have you ever had the freedom to do what you really want…to be who you really want to be__?"_

The conversation sticks with me, but I don't mention the money to anyone. Esme puts it into an account for me and shows me the initial statement, but other than that, I try to pretend it isn't there.

I hope there's a time when every cent of it doesn't remind me of things that I couldn't have controlled even if I wanted to.

All I can control now is myself.

* * *

People leave me alone. I'm not sure if it's because I'm always with Garrett, who could probably tear someone's head off with one hand, or if it's because I have what Garrett calls a "don't-fuck-with-me-face". When we finally started talking he told me the theories going around on why I'm in. The truth ended up being "a lot less violent, but a lot more interesting", as Garrett said.

He advises me not to tell anyone the truth. I don't.

We've been spending a lot of time outside, the weather unseasonably warm for this time of year.

Garrett and I work out or play basketball mostly, but a lot of people just sit around, stirring shit up out of boredom. I notice a group of guys gathered in the corner of the fence, huddled around someone and every now and then one of them turning back to look at me. Garrett dips around me, jumping up to dunk the ball in the hoop without any resistance.

"E, what the fuck?" he says, palming the basketball and stretching his arms wide to show his irritation. But then he follows my gaze and we stand watching the odd gathering of people. People don't do that, really. It's not allowed, and most of the time people are too skittish to get that close to one another. My eyes move across the rest of the yard, and I notice people are looking at me, averting their gazes when mine approaches theirs. Garrett's observing the same thing. "Somethin's up," he says through clenched teeth. Probably no one further than a few feet from us would know he spoke. Neither of us move, staring down the corner group. They seem to sense it because it breaks up, guys walking away and trying to hide their discomfort at our scrutiny. As the cluster of people thins out, I see James at the center of it.

He meets my stare and smiles at me, probably the sickest smile I've ever seen on a human being. My expression doesn't change, and I watch him walk to one of the picnic tables and sit on top of it. The guys he hangs out with follow, giving us the same hard glare.

The space around us seems to hold its breath. Garrett bounces the basketball once, then twice, and then ducks behind me to dunk again, his movement restarting time. I break the stare with James and go back to the game. Garrett talks to me in a low voice while we play, telling me to stay calm and not react -that if James had something to say, there's no way he could keep quiet for long.

I just wish I knew what the fuck it was.

Something is missing, a traitor triangle of paper left behind in the binding, the shading on the corner indicating that there was something there that isn't there now. I flip through the surrounding pages again and again, but it comes up the same each time.

Garrett lowers his book when he catches my expression. "What?"

"I know what James has," I say quietly, feeling the dead weight of regret settle on top of me. I shouldn't have drawn that shit. We're locked up for the night, or I would be out of this cell and looking for that fucker before I could explain it to Garrett.

He looks at me expectantly, his eyes travelling between the notebook in my hands and the look on my face.

"I drew Bella."

He frowns, and then his eyes widen. "Not, like...naked," he states, and if I wasn't in this situation I would have laughed at his disapproving tone.

I can't even respond. He closes his book and drops it on the bench next to him and it's quiet for a minute.

And then he starts laughing.

My anger spikes, forming my hands into fists, my muscles tensing.

"Relax, kid," he says when he sees it, his lips still smiling. He shakes his head, looking up to our small window that just reflects the fluorescent lights back to us when it's dark out. "You're gonna have to get over it. Now."

I stand, pacing in front of the barred side of our room, feeling more imprisoned at this moment than I have yet. "How the fuck?" He understands what I'm asking.

This time his smile has no humor behind it. "There is no such thing as privacy here. There are no secrets except the ones that you keep in here." He points to his temple. "Anyone can be bought or sold. Even the guards."

My fists want to punch the wall, but I hold myself back and start pacing again.

He gets up and turns me to face him. "This was your lesson to learn this week, E. Be happy it wasn't one that landed you in solitary or the hospital."

It takes me a few minutes to sit, but I do, facing Garrett again.

"Let it roll of your back. He's gonna fuck with you so hard, though." He shakes his head again, the amused smile back for a second and then falling. "But you need to learn how little words mean, especially coming from a piece of shit like him." He stares me down. "They're just words."

I tear every page I've written on into a thousand tiny pieces of paper before I go to sleep and feel like I'm drowning while I do it.

I'm losing things that I thought couldn't be taken away.

I just have to hang onto myself.

* * *

The first week is hell. They mouth her name at me at first, and then they catcall it, and James makes some gestures that make me want to beat his head into the ground until he no longer resembles a human being.

I watch him fuck with people. For the most part, they're people who keep to themselves, or that run in small groups. He noticeably steers clear of a group of guys with gang tattoos, and a few that have swastikas and shaved heads. Everyone else is fair game. I watch him knock the Bible out of Benjamin's hands and tear his glasses off of his face, throwing them into the dirt. He laughs while Benjamin gets down on his hands and knees, feeling around for the frames that allow him to see the words that he needs.

I've never met people like that, that have so little respect for women - or for other people in general. I used to think I knew the difference between good and bad, or right and wrong, but now I know that I have never experienced what it is to look at someone and know that they are capable of shit that the average person couldn't fathom doing.

Some of the guards are alright. They maintain distance, and there's a sense that they really just want to keep the peace. But a handful of them are charged, like they're waiting for a fight to break out so they can utilize the nightstick that they keep one hand on while they watch us from behind mesh and glass. Worse than that, some of them just let things happen, turning a blind eye to violence that makes me want to puke .

Garrett says you get used to it and to be thankful that I'm not in high security. I take what he says to heart, but find it hard to be thankful for any of this shit.

"Her tits are fucking perfect, like peaches, but I wish you would've drawn more of her, _E._" He says my name like an insult.

The closer they've gotten to me over the week, the more I start to figure out the dynamic of James' group. Two fear him. Two are dumb, and mean. One is definitely mentally unstable. James is tall-not as tall as Garrett, but he's pretty built and he's quick. He moves like a snake, and his eyes are always narrowed like he's looking for weakness. My ability to hide everything I'm feeling actually works for me here.

We're in the yard, the sunlight is weak this time of year so it's getting cold. Garrett is doing pull-ups while I sit on the nearest picnic table, letting my arms rest after doing as many as I could while he called me a pussy and egged me on to do one more...one more. I focus on my breathing and not on James.

He takes a step closer, and I stifle the instinct to move back. Instead, I keep my body still, letting my breaths slow. Out of the corner of my eye I see Garrett slow his movements and drop to his feet, facing us.

"You know, I get out of here in a few months," he says, his voice almost seductive. My stomach rolls. "Maybe I'll look _Bella_ up. See if the rest of her is as good as those tits."

I blink, breathe and don't react, my eyes focused on a spot on the ground.

James laughs loudly and all movement around us halts, like the day he took the sketch from me. The two guys who fear him fidget. I can see them shift their weight from foot to foot nervously, jumping when the loud buzzer that signals we need to go inside echoes across the yard. It's early, which means that the guards saw something about to go down and are stopping it before it starts.

Everyone comes back to life, moving toward the doors, but I sit still and wait for him to get the fuck away from me. He walks right up to Garrett and slaps him on the arm. I look up, watching Garrett stare down right into his eyes.

"You were right, he is a pussy," James hisses, and then walks away laughing, his motley crew following.

Garrett watches him go with his nostrils flared and his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white, but when he meets my eyes he relaxes into a smile. I can see the effort behind it, though.

We walk in together and I feel the guards watching us, so we skip the common room and go into our cell to wait for them to call us to dinner. Neither of us speak until the harsh buzzer sounds.

Garrett raises his head and looks at me with an expression I haven't seen on his face before. It almost scares me. "If he had said that about my Kate, I would've fuckin' killed him," he whispers, his eyes blinking rapidly.

I look back down, exhaling slowly, and when we meet eyes again I've got it together.

"Just words," I say, repeating his wisdom back to him.

He nods, and we get up and walk out of our cell... the only space here that feels a little bit like home.

* * *

**One last thank you to the people who allowed me to pick their brains about either their time in prison, or their experiences with having a loved one locked up. I owe you all a lot.**

**Thank you for reading! Also, the twigirlsnxtdoor (on twitter) gals are doing a readalong of WWH this Saturday June 18th! Join in if you're feeling frisky. **


	14. Icy Grape

**Hi! Missed you. **

**Thank you to ShearEnvy for being fantastic, and to ilsuocantante and stephk0525 for their sighs and eeps and for tearing up when I'm sitting there praying they will. :)**

**Thank you to shickle1970 for her honesty, kindness and for holding my hand when she can tell I need a good, hard, hand-holding. Hee.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

"That's what you're wearing?"

I smooth my hair down once more and meet Rose's eyes in the mirror. She's sitting on my bed, one eyebrow raised, her gaze sweeping my body. The look on her face is one I don't see there often.

I tug my skirt down a little, shrugging. "Yeah, why?" We stare each other down for a second before her phone buzzes and she looks down, smiling when she sees the name on the screen.

Looking back at my reflection, I pick up my drink from the vanity and swallow my jealousy down with vodka. I can't be jealous of someone else's happiness.

Especially hers.

She answers Emmett's call as I slide on knee-high boots that will help to balance out the small surface area of skin that my skirt covers. They aren't heels or anything, so I don't look too much like a hooker...I think. I can feel her watching me so I walk into the bathroom to check my reflection again, minus the judgment.

I can tell she doesn't want to come to this party, but I'm nervous to go alone, even though people I know will be there. Well, not _know, _like in a real sense. They're just school friends, people that I see for an hour or two a few times a week. They don't really _know_ me.

My stomach starts to register my nervousness. Maybe I shouldn't have invited Rose, or maybe I shouldn't go at all. Jane seems really cool, though, and it might be nice to have a connection with people outside of my immediate circle.

_It's just a stupid fucking party. You've gone to a thousand stupid fucking parties. It's going to be fine._

I see Rose standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, studying me. She moves behind me, her arms around my waist and her chin resting on my shoulder like she knows what I'm thinking.

"Nervous?" she asks my reflection, and I lay my arms over hers, sighing.

"A little," I admit. I stare at her for a second. "I'm not trying to look slutty or anything, I just…"

She scoffs, shaking her head. "I didn't mean it like that. I just think you're forgetting what drunk guys are like - drunk guys that don't know that Edward would kill them if they touched you."

I reach forward and grab my drink, bringing it to my lips again. Sometimes I don't want to talk about him. She sees that, I think, because she changes the subject.

"Emmett and Jasper want to come meet up with us there later." I nod and smile, and she reaches her hand for my cocktail, sipping at it over my shoulder. "I can't believe it's your second semester and this is the first college party we're going to. It'll be just like old times, except instead of Mike Newton's mansion, it'll be in a dirty frat house," she says, laughing at the way my face falls.

I've walked past those places on campus. Every single one of them seems to have a saggy couch on the porch and a plethora of cigarette butts stomped out in the yard. I can only imagine what the bathrooms look like.

"Oh you'll be _fine_, Princess," she says, smiling slowly. It's the smile that she knows I can't help responding in kind to- mischievous and just for me. "If there's anything you and I know, Bella, it's parties. _Parties,_ we can do." She turns around and starts dancing next to me, shaking her ass in the mirror and looking back over her shoulder to grin at my reflection.

I can't help but laugh, and by the time we get to the house my anxiety has evened out into excitement.

"They'd better have whiskey," she says over her shoulder as she stalks up the stairs confidently, walking through the front door and immediately locating the makeshift bar. We sift through the random mix of bottles until finding Jack and Coke and mixing it in plastic cups.

"Bella!" Jane yells, pushing through the growing crowd to get to me. She hugs me hard, and I can tell she's already well on her way to being drunk. She turns to Rose, hugging her in the same way she hugged me, even though I haven't introduced them yet. Rose raises an eyebrow at me over Jane's shoulder.

One of the reasons I like Jane is that she's perpetually smiling. She was one of the first people to really try to engage me at this school, and she knows everyone, or at least everyone in this crowd.

I make the introductions and Jane points out some people around the party to us. The room is mostly made up of jock-y looking dudes and pretty girls. Rose was right. Except for the setting, this is very familiar.

We do shots of the jack before following Jane into the kitchen, where bulky guys flank the keg, looking us up and down from under the brims of their white baseball caps. Of course, Rose sees someone she knows, so I'm left standing with Jane who is flirting with the entire group of guys.

"What's your name?" one of them asks, his eyes on my lips. I feel a twinge of recognition, and then disgust because this guy is nothing like him, and neither is this situation.

"Bella," I say, trying to ride the line between friendly and standoffish.

"Wanna dance, Bella?" He doesn't look like they type that likes to dance.

"I have a boyfriend."

He looks behind me and around the kitchen. "So what? Is he here?"

Jane jumps into the conversation. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend! Where is he?" She's definitely drunk now, her voice loud even in the crowded kitchen.

I pause for a second, looking around at all the people waiting for my answer, and decide to just tell the truth. "Prison," I say loudly, taking a sip of my drink.

Jane busts out into laughter, pressing one hand against the guy who was trying to talk to me and one against my arm. "Oh my god, you're so funny, Bella! Don't you just love her?" she asks him and he nods, still letting his eyes rove over me.

In that moment I long for a ring on my finger, or some tangible symbol of him. My hands find his dog tags through my shirt, but I don't pull them out.

"No, really, though, I'd _love_ to meet him," she says. "Where does he live?" Again I feel the eyes of all these people on me waiting for me to answer.

The lie comes out of my mouth before the thought is complete. I lie the lie so well that I can see them accept it, the girls faces overcome with pity and the guys with respect. "He's in the service. Overseas."

We toast to the safety of the troops, and as my eyes span the group they land on Rose. Her face is blank as she stares at me, raising her glass and mouthing "for the troops" at me before turning around.

I don't see her again until Emmett and Jasper show up. I'm pretty drunk at this point, sitting on a counter in the kitchen surrounded by people whose names I can't remember, but who are my new best friends. Emmett waves to me from the doorway, and clearly Rose didn't tell him what I did yet, because there's no judgment behind his expression. Jasper edges his way through the crowd, and something about his familiarity and his easy smile makes me want to burst into tears.

"Hey Jasper," I say, noting the slurring of my words but unable to control it. He's got a drink in his hand, and stands in front of me, trying to maintain personal space in the crowded kitchen. It's the closest I've been to him in a very long time, as we maintain almost comically obvious physical distance whenever we see each other... for our comfort and for Alice's.

"Where's Alice?" I ask over the chatter in the room, and he shakes his head. He can't hear me. I lean forward and brace myself on his shoulder, speaking into his ear and asking the question again.

He smells impossibly the same.

"Home with Claire," he says stiffly, and helps me sit back upright. I see him glance down at my legs, and I follow his gaze, pressing my knees together when I see how I'm sitting and that everyone in the room can probably see my underwear.

"Gotta get out of here," I say drunkenly, and he nods, putting his drink down to grab my waist and help me get my feet on the floor. I don't even bother looking for Jane. She disappeared with the guy that was trying to dance with me earlier. The whole house is packed now; even the skanky porch couch is draped with laughing people. Jasper drains his cup as we walk away from the house, dropping it in a garbage can at the end of a driveway.

"Should we wait for Rose and Em?" he asks, glancing back behind us. I just shake my head. He doesn't push me for a reason.

When we get to his truck he pauses. "Can we just sit for a minute? We went to a party before this one and I think I need to sober up a little before I drive."

I nod as he flips the back of the truck bed down and we hop up to sit on it, our feet dangling.

"Everything okay with you?" he asks. We don't really talk like this. Like, for real. Most of the time we're around Alice and the baby or Rose and Emmett. With Alice, who I really like, there are still boundaries. There always will be, I suppose. I'll never be able to have the bond with her that she has with Rose because of my past relationship with Jasper. I think the limits on my friendship with him will be similar.

But here we are just the two of us, and he's asking me a real question.

"I don't know. Sometimes," I answer honestly. "I think I'm just lonely."

He's quiet, and after a minute I look over at him. "What?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

"That's just really sad," he says. "I mean, this is college, and we're supposed to be having the time of our lives."

"Aren't you?" I ask, and I mean it sincerely. He seems genuinely happy.

He smiles. "It's just different than I thought it would be. I thought I'd be going pro and partying all the time and shit…not that I'm complaining. My parents, on the other hand…"

We laugh, because I know how his parents must have reacted to the pregnancy and his choice to stay here. His dad was the quintessential former jock who wanted nothing more than to see his son accomplish what he couldn't. I used to think all of those things made Jasper typical, and maybe they did, but I wonder how I missed the part of him that would stick by Alice and give up his chance for glory on the football field.

I also wonder if he would have done the same thing for me, not that it matters at this point.

"What about your parents?" he asks, and I know he's asking about how they dealt with Edward.

"It's all good. I mean, I don't know if they're happy about it, per se, but…you know my dad was his attorney and everything."

I catch Jasper's frown before he can hide it. "Yeah, I heard that."

A couple walks up the sidewalk and for a second I think it's Rose and Emmett, but it's not.

"I lied tonight," I say after they pass us.

Jasper turns his head to look at me. "About what?"

It takes me a minute to say it. "I told a bunch of people that Edward was in the service and that's why he's not around."

"Why?" he asks, and I can't look at him now that I've admitted it, so I stare at the ground in front of us.

"I don't know."

And that's not a lie.

When he drops me off, I can see that a light's still on in the living room, so he lets me out at the curb. I lean against the door when I close the it, watching his profile for a second.

"I'm sorry for everything," I say, and hope he knows what I mean.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, his eyes closed. "So am I," he says, putting the truck back into gear and turning to smile sadly at me. I back away from the truck and watch him drive away, back to his girls and his new life.

I'm just waiting for my new life to start.

* * *

Rose doesn't call me for a few days, but I don't call her either. I don't hear from Emmett, Jasper or Alice either, so I suppose everyone knows about the lie now and it makes me feel toxic…repellant.

Despite the fact that I'm in college and pretty much free to do whatever I want, there is a weird sameness between this year and the last. I wake up every day in the same room that I've always woken up in. I go to school on a different campus, but end up associating with the same type of people that I always associated with when I was in high school.

Everyone around me is moving on, but I'm static, standing still.

Only one picture hangs on my mirror now. It's one I tried to send to Edward, but he sent it back in his next letter with no explanation. It's the two of us at the coffee shop, his face uncharacteristically unguarded in its happiness, smiling at me while I grin at the camera. Every morning I stare at it while I get ready and wonder if we'll ever be able to get back there.

I see Jane in class on Wednesday and she gushes about the party and the guy, Peter, that she ended up hooking up with that night.

"Oh my god he was so sweet, Bella. He let me stay in his room and bought me breakfast the next morning. I think I'm in love," she says, bringing her hand to her chest dramatically.

She laughs when I eye her skeptically. "I'm kidding!" Her shoulder bumps mine and I try to remember what lighthearted feels like, looking at this girl who embodies it. I decide to really try to fit in, not just in a superficial way, but to let my life begin for real. Because isn't this real life?

"What are we doing this weekend?" I ask and listen, smiling, while she plans out the next few days for me.

* * *

"How are you?" His voice is distant and strained, but I can't tell if it's the connection or him. The line crackles.

"I'm okay," I say and then silence stretches out thin between us, barely blanketing the million things I want to ask and tell him. "How are you?"

"Alright," he says quietly.

My eyes search the room in front of me, trying to think of something to talk about. "School is going well. I'm getting good grades and whatever, so my dad's happy…I'm happy."

I cringe at my last words.

"That's-"

"I mean-"

We talk over one another and then both stop, waiting for the other to continue. I want to cry.

I start. "I mean I'm not happy, I'm just glad that I'm doing well in school."

"You're not happy?" he asks. His voice sounds close, like it used to when we would talk late at night, his cheek pressed against his pillow.

"I don't know. No? Should I be?" I ask, taking a slow breath.

"I want you to be," he answers.

"Why did you send my picture back?" I ask, and he pauses. I'm about to qualify the statement, because it was months ago now, but he responds before I can.

"There are people here…I can't have that," he says cryptically. My eyes water because I don't know what that means, and he probably can't tell me.

"Okay?"

"Bella, I can't really tell you what things are like here. I could, but it wouldn't really explain it. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I get it."

He sighs, his frustration tangible. "Are you mad at me or something?"

"No, why would I be mad?" Even as I say that, though, I can feel this block between us. It might be anger, or it might be something else.

"I just feel…disconnected from you."

_Disconnected_? The laugh comes out before I can stop it and I freeze, breathing shallow. I hear him shift, and his voice comes quieter but closer than before, like he's pressed into a corner.

"If you've got something to say, just say it."

And then I close my eyes and imagine his face, his arms and his chest and the way he looked that last night. And then I remember the last time I saw him, how he was thinner, more toned and more handsome than he was before.

"I miss you." It comes out hoarse and desperate and I so very much wish I didn't mean it like I mean it, but I do.

He exhales slowly, and I swear I can hear him grind his teeth against the hurt. "I miss you more."

I hope he can't hear my tears, because I try to keep it out of my voice, but they're there through the few words we get in before he has to hang up.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he whispers, and the line goes dead.

I hold my silent phone to my ear until I fall asleep.

* * *

I'm not exactly sure how I end up kissing Jane, but I know it's fueled by massive amounts of alcohol and sexual adrenaline - the need to be touched and kissed and loved, the alcohol providing the filter that lets me feel like there's true affection there.

If anyone knows better, it's me, but I relish in it for the moment...along with the chanting of the guys around us, and the feel of her lips on mine as her hands move around my waist and up my back.

When I pull back she looks at the jocks around us for approval and it's lost.

I'm lost.

In that moment I realize none of that was for me. I knew that, though. That sort of thing is never for the enjoyment of the participant. It's for the voyeurs. From the way they move to shift themselves in their pants and sidle up next to me and Jane, who is loving the attention, it was a success in the way that it's supposed to be.

I'm so fucked up.

I slip out the back door and call Rose, who doesn't answer. Neither does Emmett, or Alice, or Jasper, probably because it's three in the morning on a Tuesday night.

I take a cab back to my house, back to my childhood room, and curl up into a bed that should feel familiar and comfortable, but I feel none of that. All I feel is a self-loathing that I thought I'd left behind a long time ago.

* * *

_Edward,_

_Sam called me yesterday to tell me that they were washing the trains last night. By the time I got down there my car was done, but I still knew which one it was because they don't wash clean. The outline is faint, and the colors bled__,__ but it's still there. Sam said it never will completely disappear,_ _but that it will get painted over eventually, and it will get washed again and again until you can only see little glimpses of the paint you used. I cried when he told me that, because I'm afraid that's what will happen to us. Like after this we'll be some watered down version of what we were, and I'll cling to that, pretending that it's the same as it always was._

_Honestly, when you left I thought it would be easier not to feel anything for for this year. I wanted to sleep through it so when you come back I will be the same person as when you left. I thought maybe I could avoid feeling hurt and bitter. But I don't think that will work, because no matter what, I had to go through this. I need to feel all this shit, and some days I can pretend, but not today. Today I feel alone and afraid to make a move, because I'm so terrified I'll change too much and when you get out I'll be so different that you won't love me anymore._

_I always thought I was independent but now that everyone around me is changing, I get that I'm not. I've been keeping everyone in roles that I'm comfortable with. I need Rose to be fucked up, because it makes me feel less fucked up. I need my parents to be distant and cold so I can indulge my sad__,__ little__,__ rich girl bullshit without feeling guilty. I need Jasper to be an asshole so I can justify the choices I've made._

_I needed you to be bad and wrong for me, because that let me feel like a rebel. It made me feel alive._

_This doesn't feel like living anymore, though, does it? So, if it's okay, I'm going to tell you what I really need now. Please tell me it's okay for me to do great things, and have good days, and to really smile. Tell me it's okay for me to fuck up and cry and heal and become stronger because of it. Because I knew I would be lost without you, but I feel like I'm really fallling apart. _

_I love you,_

_Bella_

* * *

**This likely won't matter much, but I'm changing up the chapter names. I originally intended each one to be a different paint color, hence the title Icy Grape. This particular Krylon brand paint was discontinued and like anything discontinued, became a hot commodity.**

**Other than that, I just want to thank you for sticking with me (if you so choose to), because I know reading a WIP through the rough parts can be a total mofo. ****Thank you for reading. I appreciate all of you very much, and if I could, I would have you all over for Jack and Coke and chicken wangs. **

**Shit, maybe I will. **

**xoxo**


	15. Jungle Green

**Thank you to my very patient, very kind beta ShearEnvy and to my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante, who are just so frackin' super. Also, thanks to bashfulfan for letting me be a spaz and for not making fun when I am. xo**

* * *

Mr. Swan is quiet, flipping through papers and making notes on a legal pad. I try not to stare but can't stop myself from looking for the similarities between him and Bella. They get the same looks on their faces when they're concentrating. I haven't seen him much over the last few months, so I was actually kind of looking forward to seeing him when I found out we had an appointment.

It's kind of good to see people who aren't tied to this place like the rest of us are. In a few minutes, he'll walk out the door and get in his car. Tonight he'll pull into his driveway and his family will be waiting for him. I imagine Bella sitting at the counter, working on her homework, while Mrs. Swan cooks dinner. He'll kiss Bella on the top of the head and tease Mrs. Swan while she sips her glass of wine and Bella watches them, smiling.

I flash back to her last letter, and my optimism fades when I realize that the scene in my head is probably pretty far from the reality.

_This doesn't feel like living anymore, though, does it?_

I swallow hard. Mr. Swan clears his throat and looks up, smiling uncomfortably when he sees me staring.

"So, your aunt tells me you came into some money."

"Yes, sir."

"Any idea what you're going to do with it when you get out?"

Once I got over where the check had come from, I started letting myself think about that. I may actually have the chance to do some of the things that I thought weren't ever going to be an option for me.

"I'll be able to pay for school now and help Esme out. I owe her a lot."

"Do you know what you'd like to do for a career?"

I feel like I'm at a fucking job interview. "Not really sure yet. But I'm thinking about art school."

He nods, but I can tell he's not happy with my answer.

"I don't really know what I want to do," I say, feeling very low at that moment. Right now, all I want to do is get the fuck out of here, kiss his daughter and hope - and I hope this _so _fucking hard - that everything else falls into place.

Maybe that's not the way things are going to go for us, though.

_Because I knew I would be lost without you, but I feel like I'm really falling apart._

"How is she?" I ask quietly.

He squints at me like he's trying to figure out which version of the truth I'd like to hear.

"She sent me this letter…" I say, but I don't know how to summarize it, or even how I feel about it yet, so I can't complete the thought.

His pen taps on the paper a few times, eyeing me, before he drops it. "She doesn't really want to talk about anything, but I know she's unhappy."

I take a deep breath, my stomach aching because I know it's my fault. "What should I do?"

The look on his face answers my question before his words do. "I don't know."

He sighs. "She says she's meeting people, and she still sees her friends quite a bit. I just worry that she's not having the college experience that she should be." He's looking at a spot behind me, lost in some thought. "Not that I'd want her to be doing any of the things I did while I was in college."

His gaze jumps back to me and his face gets red. He moves to grab his briefcase and sets it on the table, gathering the papers and filing them inside.

"Wait," I say, before he stands.

I don't want him to go, and I'm overwhelmed by a homesickness that I've been doing my best to stifle. He looks at me, frowning, and sets his briefcase back down.

"Do you think it would be better..." I can't hold his gaze. "... would _she _be better if we weren't... together?"

The words feel wrong and fucked up, but I have to ask because he is watching her go through this, and I know he'll tell me the truth.

When I look up he's glaring at me. "No." His nostrils flare and he takes a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. "God, no. Look, can I say that you're the guy I thought my daughter would end up with? No. Am I particularly happy that you're incarcerated? No. But she loves you."

I look down at the table, relieved, but don't know what to say.

He pauses. "Can I give you some advice?"

I nod.

"Don't take this the wrong way, and my wife would probably say that I need to do this as well, but Edward... you need to lighten up."

I look up at him, blinking for a long minute.

"Dude, I'm in _prison_."

His expression mimics mine for a second and then he breaks out into a smile and laughs once. We both crack up.

I'm not sure if I've ever seen him laugh before, and the way he's looking at me, I bet he could say the same

"I can't believe you called me 'dude'," he chuckles, shaking his head and smiling.

When our laughter dies down we sit there smiling for a second before he gets up. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes, and the look he gives makes me miss my dad so much that I can't breathe. "We'll get through this, kid."

* * *

It's a week later when Rose shows up.

I don't think she likes coming to see me. Somehow she manages to show that she's disrespectful of the authority of the guards without saying a word. It's in her posture and the way she inspects her nails while she waits for me.

Underneath all that I think this place scares her, but she would never admit that.

The guards hover more than usual, checking her out while trying to act like they're not. She doesn't look at any of them. Just me. When we're finally alone she relaxes, narrowing her eyes and looking me over.

"What, are you on steroids now?" she asks, eyeing my biceps.

I roll my eyes. "Nothing better to do than work out."

She shrugs, her face sober, like she doesn't have the stomach for small talk. I should've known something was up if she showed up here. "What's up, girl?"

"Not much," she says, looking down at her nails again like she's trying to ignore me or some shit. "Just wanted to see you." She glances up at me and away again.

I'm going to have to work at this. "How's Emmett?"

She shrugs again. "Fine. Really busy at school."

"Esme?"

"She's good. The studio is doing well."

"And Bella?"

Her expression darkens before she can stop it. "She's good." She won't look at me. My stomach turns.

"Rose, why are you here?"

She focuses on me, finally. "I'm worried about Bella."

"Why?" I ask. I'm not sure I want to hear the answer, but that doesn't matter.

She exhales. "Maybe it's stupid, but I went to this party with her a few weeks ago and it was like... exactly like she used to be. I mean, without Jasper, but it was just all this shallow bullshit. All these jocks everywhere and this chick Jane she's hanging out with is so fucking annoying."

The scenes that flash through my mind make my jaw set. I fight to push it back, the fucking white hats and Polo cologne and their eyes on a sullen, bored, drunk Bella. She's a different, lifeless person in those memories.

My heart pounds hard. I think of my response to her letter. I didn't really understand what she was asking me when she asked if it was okay to live her life. I assumed that she meant...

I guess I didn't know what she meant.

"Hey." She puts her hand on mine where it's fisted, resting on the table. I take a second to close my eyes and relax. When I open them, she's biting her lip.

"What else?" I know there's more. Rose was only really able to hide things when she was fucked up. Her eyes are clear today, but they're also shifty and agitated, which is familiar in a different way.

She purses her lips and I can tell she's both angry and sad, and can't decide which one is going to win. "This part sucks," she says in warning. "I heard her tell a bunch of people that you were in the military and that's why you're gone."

I swallow hard. I'd thought about that a few times - what she would tell people when she met them - but I guess I assumed she would take the tough road and be honest, even if it sucked. I was wrong.

"I'm sorry," she says, her thumb rubbing over the back of my hand. "I probably shouldn't be here; I just feel like she's moving backwards."

She takes her hand back and squeezes her eyes shut, anxiously running her hands through her hair and taking deep breaths. The movement takes me back to a time before Rose found drugs and booze to cope with her shit. She would get really bad anxiety. I haven't seen her like this in a long-ass time.

She continues like she didn't stop talking. "I feel like I'm slipping back, too. But I'm trying so hard not to. I've been doing so well, but last week I went and saw my mom and ever since then I just want to get numb again. Like, really fucking numb like I used to." The last part is a whisper.

She shakes her head and a few tears fall, but her eyes stay wide, staring at me, like she's waiting for judgment.

"C'mere." I move my chair closer to hers and grab her hand.

"Have you talked to Emmett about it?"

I understand that Rose is here because she needs me, and I'm going to push aside the Bella shit for now and deal with this.

She shakes her head, her voice thick and wavering. "He doesn't understand. He doesn't know half the shit I did. I think it scares him."

"It scares me, too."

"Yeah but you've seen the same shit I've seen. Done the shit I did. Sometimes I feel like I have two separate lives. Like he expects me to live in the suburbs some day and drive a minivan and clean the house when he goes to work. And what if I can never be normal like that?"

"It's not like Emmett was a boy scout, Rose."

"No, he was. He was a fucking boy scout. He told me," she says dryly, not even smiling at her own joke.

Sometimes I wonder if all of the meds that her dad had her on were actually necessary. She's never told me exactly what they decided was wrong with her, but watching her now, I'm afraid she's going into a tailspin. She just used to get out of control while she was really fucked up, so we all blamed it on the recreational drugs.

She takes a breath and seems to snap out of it after a minute, rubbing her eyes. "I shouldn't have told you what she said. I'm sorry. If you don't mind, please don't tell Bella. It's not her fault I'm like this."

I shake my head, keeping my eyes on her face. "It's gonna be alright, Rose."

I hope I'm right.

* * *

Even though I know I'm supposed to be pretending that I don't know what Rose told me, I don't call Bella that week. And the letter I send back in response to her latest one is too short and doesn't have all of the words in it that I would normally write.

When I finally call she's quiet at first, until she blurts out the question I suppose she's been waiting to ask. "Why haven't you called?"

It takes me a minute to answer. "I was just working through some shit."

"I kind of figured that out from your letter. Is everything okay?" she asks, her voice low.

"It's just crazy here. I don't know." My voice is flat.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"I feel like you're not telling me things," she says.

_Ditto._

"Everything's fine," I say, not really addressing what she said. "Hey, how's Rose?" I ask, clenching my teeth.

"I haven't really seen her. She seems okay, though."

I try to think of how to word this, because even though I'm angry, I don't want her to be mad at Rose.. "You should try to hang out with her more. I think she's lonely without Emmett."

She's quiet. "I'll call her tomorrow. I've got to finish some homework before tonight."

"Going out?"

"Just hanging out with this girl Jane from my lit class."

I grip the receiver tighter.

"Where are you going?" I try to keep my voice light but I doubt it works.

"Just some party."

"Frat party?"

"Yeah?" she says. I don't answer. "Is that a problem?" she asks, her voice tinged with anger.

I have a sudden, violent urge to smash the phone onto the cradle over and over until it's just plastic shards and wiring.

"I don't know. Why don't _you _tell me if it is," I bite out.

"Okay, what's going on, Edward?" she asks, and there's hesitation in her tone now.

I can't bust Rose out. "Just that letter you sent a few weeks ago... it freaked me out. I feel like something's going on."

"Like what?" There's no fire in her words now and it makes my heart sink, like it's an admission of guilt.

"You're going to frat parties?"

She's silent for so long that I ask if she's still there. "I did something stupid," she says, and I lean into the corner like I usually do when I'm talking to her. I close my eyes.

"What?" I ask.

"I kissed Jane. At a party. I was drunk and it didn't mean anything."

Part of me is relieved, but part of me wants to beat the shit out of anyone who saw that happen.

"In front of a bunch of guys," I state, not really asking, because I know the scene she's describing. "Fuck that."

"I don't know what I was thinking. I was drunk."

It doesn't cross my mind that often anymore, but suddenly I can't wait to get out of here and get really fucking drunk, too. I think of Rose, and how she wants to be numb. I want to be really fucking numb, too.

She's crying when we hang up, but I'm not.

* * *

James is in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's also a fucking asshole, but that doesn't factor in as much as you would think. After ignoring him for months, my fucking patience starts to wear thin, and the more I show it, the more he pushes. So, when he opens his mouth today, I'm just… done.

Most fights I've been in over the years were started out of necessity, and this one is no different.

It's a necessity that I feel James' face give way to my fucking fist.

"How's your girl, Cullen? You tell her I'm getting out soon?"

He smiles up at me from the muddy ground after the first time I hit him, his teeth already stained with blood. I pull him to his feet by his shirt to hit him again and only get two more good shots in before Garrett pulls me off of him.

I get solitary for a week. They don't call it that, but that's what it is. It's not that different than the room they put you in when you first get into the system, but I think at that point I had more of a grasp on reality.

The first day isn't that bad. I sleep, do push-ups and lie on the thin, hard mattress and stare, repeating everything over and over in my mind...the things she said and what Rose said... until they start to hurt less and less.

Until it's almost gone.

I have to start over the second day, though.

And the third.

By the fourth day I think I'm losing my fucking mind, but I start to let myself think rationally about Bella, instead of just feeling the rush of rage and the adrenaline that comes from our last conversation. I'm hurt, and I've lost touch with what it is about the two of us that makes us good. In my head, she's back to being the stranger that I hated because she didn't know the way I felt. She's the girl who cheated on her boyfriend for no reason other than her own boredom. She's the half-naked girl in that picture that everyone saw, making the face she makes when it feels really fucking good. She's a girl who would make out with some chick she just met just because she wants the attention. She would lie to a bunch of stupid fucks that she doesn't know because she wants them to think I'm something worth waiting for.

She's such a fucking liar, and such a tease, and so shallow and spoiled.

But she's also the girl who told Jasper the truth, and showed up on my roof to tell me how she really felt. And she's the girl who walked into school holding my hand, even though she knew what it meant for her. She's brave and kind and has stuck with me through shit that most people shouldn't have to deal with.

As for the rest, I'm going to have to wait and see for myself what type of girl she is now.

On the fifth day I wake up and all I can think about is getting out of this room and getting ahold of Bella, because I woke up from a dream about her, and it brought me back to the beginning.

The first time I touched her and kissed her...the first time she really _saw _me.

I remember why now.

_We crash in my room__; __her fucking lips __are __on my neck and __her __hands __are __up my shirt__, __gripping my belt and pushing down__. __When __the backs of my legs hit the bed__, __we just... stop. Our lips part slowly as she takes a step back. I lick my bottom lip to taste her, and she watches, blinking rapidly as she inhales._

_I'm afraid she's gonna walk out, but she reaches down, her arms crossed and grabbing the hem of her t-shirt, looking at me like she's asking if I want her to do it. Asking if I want her._

_My head nods, and she slides the fabric up and over her skin, her hair spilling over her shoulders. I slowly move my eyes over the curve of her, the skin that's been hidden under her cheerleading uniforms and outfits from stores at the mall that I've never been in. _

_She looks down, her fingers reach out to grab my shirt and she pulls it up slowly, her eyes fixed on the skin that's exposed until she finally reaches my eyes. _

_We stare until I see something in her face that I thought I fucking made up over the years. I don't know what to do with it, though, because she and I can't...be. She is who she is and I am who I am. "What are we doing?" I hope she answers the way I want __her to. __W__hen she doesn't say anything, I run my fingers up her arm, over her shoulder and across her chest, lightly over her cleavage and down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans._

_Her hands mirror mine, making my muscles tense, and she fumbles with my belt __while __my fingers fumble with the button on her jeans until I get it and she moves her hands to slide them down over her hips. _

_We stop again, staring, until she puts a hand on my chest, pushing me back toward the bed. I back up until my back hits the brick wall, my eyes not leaving her. The bed shifts when she puts one knee on it, leaning forward to put her hands down and crawl up to where I'm sitting. She stops when she gets to me, straddling my legs, her hands on my chest. _

_Her fingers run down over the chain of my dad's dog tags, holding the plates but not trying to read them. Her eyes are fixed on mine, her chest rising and falling, and I can't wait anymore. I sit up, pulling her closer and finally pressing __my lips__ against her__s __again. She pulls her arms out from between us, wrapping __them __around me hard__. __F__or a minute all I can think is that this is the closest I've ever felt to a girl__. __S__he moves her lips to my neck and her legs around my hips and even though I know what I'm going to do to her, for just a second I can pretend that this is something more. I try not to get caught up in how good it feels to just fucking hug her. _

_Like I thought she would, she backs up first, but she doesn't pull away__. __S__he searches my eyes, her hands search my body __before __moving behind her __and __unclasping her bra__.__T__he straps fall off her shoulders and __she pulls__ it off__, discarding it somewhere on the floor__. She arches into me as my hands move up her back slowly and around her sides, my thumbs making circles on her ribcage. Her lips find my jaw and when I move my hands higher, she moans into my skin, pushing her hips into mine. _

"_Oh god." I can't stop the words from coming out of my mouth, not that it matters. She can feel how much I want her now. _

_I wonder if she knows how long I've felt this way._

* * *

**To give you some context as to how quickly we're moving through time, in the next chapter it will be a mere three weeks before he's released. ::jazz hands:: **

**Also, I hope you are writing for the Season of Our Discontent Anonymous Angst Contest! I'm very excited to be judging along with these fantastic authors: coldplaywhore, chrometurtle, Feisty Y. Beden, katinki, Rochelle Allison and TalulaBlue. For updates follow the contest at (at)TwiAngstContest or check out the link on my profile!**

**Thank you for reading, homies. I really appreciate it! xo**


	16. Brick

**Thank you to my most amazing beta, ShearEnvy and my most stupendous prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante. And as always, thank you to bashfulfan, who keeps my head right.**

**Note: This chapter contains hard drug use and situations that may be upsetting to some readers. **

* * *

I wake up gasping for breath.

It's the same bad dream I've been having off and on for the last three months. I rub my eyes to get the image of Rose's waxy, pale face out of my head, Emmett with both hands over her chest, pushing desperately to get her heart beating.

My feet hit the cold hardwood floor and I take a second to breathe and relax my shoulders. One by one I loosen the grip of my fingers on the edge of the mattress.

My alarm clock goes off and I lean over to turn it off. It's like this these days. I wake up before my alarm, make coffee - and on the days I see her face like that I try to scrub off the dream's residue while I'm in the shower, as if it settled over my skin like a layer of dust while I was asleep.

The sun is rising behind the city's skyline. It's why I got this apartment. That and the fact that it's the entire second floor of the small building, with windows on all sides, and a room that Edward can use as a studio when he gets out.

Three weeks.

Three weeks.

_Three fucking weeks._

I can see him walking across these shiny, creaky, wood floors already, laying in this bed, sitting at the counter in the kitchen while I cook.

Getting out of bed, I turn on the coffeemaker and wander through the living room and into Edward's studio. It's mostly bare, but I did get him a drafting table and some new sketchbooks and markers. They sit lonely on the industrial shelving, but I imagine it filled with color, tubes of paint and sketches. I run my fingers over the spines of the sketchbooks.

Next to the new ones are what's left of the ones I destroyed. Some aren't his, but I figure he'll want them either way. My dad stashed them in the back of the garage and when I asked about them one night he reluctantly brought the black plastic trash bag out. The pages I ripped out got thrown in the trash, many still stained with blood from my hands. I have one long, pale, thin scar up the inside of my right wrist to remind me of that day.

It's Sunday, so I walk back into the kitchen, pour my coffee in a mug and walk to the bathroom to get in the shower. The claw-foot tub is inconvenient, and the porcelain is cracked in spots and has rust stains running down from the fixtures, but I love it just like I love all of the antiqued corners in this place. It has a character that comforts me. It has history. Nothing is sterile, molded plastic. Nothing is beige by design.

I leave my hair wet and put on jeans and a Ramones t-shirt that was Rose's once. It's thin and the hems are ripped off and sometimes when my skin gets hot it smells like her again.

Esme gets here at ten, like usual. She has keys, and I hear them clank against the door when she arrives. She doesn't call out my name anymore. She knows I'll be here.

I've got a mug out, filled with coffee and sitting on the butcher block island next to her stool when she walks in. Today she's got a large square plastic bag that she sets on the counter with her purse before sitting down and picking up her cup.

"Morning," she says, smiling. "I found a few more." She gestures at the bag.

I pull the records out. We've been replacing Edward's collection over the last few months. My dad bought us a turntable as an early housewarming gift, and I bought the speakers off of Sam. We've still got a lot more to get, but we've still got three more weeks.

"Three weeks," I say quietly.

Her grin widens. "I can't wait."

I run my fingers through my hair. "Why does it feel like the last month is going so slow? I'm losing my mind, here."

She laughs. "No you aren't. It's all just... a lot. This is going to be so good, though, Bella."

My head nods out of habit. "I know. I just want it to be now."

"It's been a long year," she says, but her face holds no darkness. She rests her elbows on the table and grins at me. "Ready?"

Rose's treatment facility is almost two hours away, but Emmett, Esme and I go every Sunday anyway. We take turns driving and pretty much only fight about music. Emmett prefers metal or hip hop, which Esme hates, and both of them hate what Emmett calls my "emo chick music". Esme usually prevails with classic rock and R&B. There's nothing like hearing Emmett sing along to "Natural Woman" by Aretha Franklin while he lays in the back seat of Esme's Jeep.

Rose is stretching in one of the chairs in the hallway when we walk in, her brow furrowed and her arms crossed over her head in a move I've seen at Esme's yoga studio. I watch her take a deep breath, her shoulders dropping and her face relaxing. As if she senses us, she looks up before any of us say anything, a smile breaking beautifully across her face.

We have to have the things we brought for her looked through, and she waits for us on the other side of the imaginary line that divides the patients from the outside world, impatiently shifting her weight from foot to foot while she waits.

"Could you possibly move slower, Sandra?" she says, watching her peer into the grocery bags that Esme put together.

Sandra doesn't turn to look at her. "Keep your pants on, Rosalie." She has the hint of a smile on her face. Rose rolls her eyes and fidgets, she and Emmett having a silent flirtation across the few feet between them.

When we finally cross the threshold she crushes Esme in a hug, then me, whispering "That's my shirt, you asshole," before getting to Emmett. She throws her arms around his neck and he straightens to his full height, her feet leaving the floor. They speak softly to each other, and when he puts her down they both have tears in their eyes.

"Thanks for coming, you guys," she says. We follow her into one of the small meeting rooms, the walls lined with chairs and motivational posters. A white board in the back is scrawled with the words "It works if you work it!"

We put the bags down on the low table in the center of the room and sit, Rose curled up in a chair next to Emmett. He rubs her back with one hand and she sighs, closing her eyes.

"How are you?" Esme asks, watching her fondly.

"This week has been good. They started this aromatherapy thing on Wednesday nights that really helped me sleep. And I've been doing yoga with Kate in the mornings."

Kate is Rose's roommate. She's in her 40's and hit a tree with her two kids in the car, drunk off a few bottles of wine at three in the afternoon.

"Aromatherapy," Emmett repeats, like he's testing the word to see if he likes it. Esme launches into a lengthy description of the benefits of various herbs, and I watch Rose. Her smile fades slightly when our eyes meet.

"How long?" she asks, meaning how long until Edward gets out.

"Three weeks," I say. Her smile fades further and I frown, about to ask her what's wrong but she interrupts.

"Irina is going to come in and talk to us." Usually that means that Rose has something she's trying to work through but is having trouble saying. Last time Irina was in here with us Rose apologized to each of us for things we didn't even know she had done.

She took a twenty dollar bill off of Emmett's dresser. She did coke off of a framed photo of my family in my dad's den during one of my parties. Her list was long but she didn't cry until she got to Esme, almost unable to speak the words that we all already know, anyway. This step is important for her, though.

"_I sold Edward's record collection and his turntable so I could buy Oxycontin, weed and a bottle of vodka."_

We didn't know the specifics until then, but I assumed it was something along those lines. Unfortunately, she didn't know the name of the guy she sold it to and was adamant that we not try to find him, her eyes wild and her head shaking when we suggested she tell us where she met him. Since then, Esme and I have been recreating it to the best of our ability without a list of albums. Mostly we have just been buying things we like, or that we remember him listening to. A few of those records were his dad's, but neither of us are sure which and neither of us have the heart to ask Rose if she remembers.

Over time the visits have gotten less violently emotional, but there are still times when I leave here feeling like I got hit by a train.

In her second month, Rose asked Emmett to tell her what it was like when he found her.

They were sitting a lot like they are now, his hand on her back.

_His movements still and he stares straight ahead. _

_I have the urge to run out of the room rather than relive this. My heart starts to pound. _

"_Please," she says._

_He swallows and starts rubbing her back again._

"_You didn't answer the phone all day. I called Bella and Alice but they didn't know where you were either. So__,__ when I got off of work I went to the loft, but you didn't answer the buzzer. One of the neighbors let me in the front door, and you left the door to the loft unlocked... the lights were all off except the one in the bathroom. "_

_He takes a deep breath, continuing in a strained voice. _

"_You were laying face down on the floor and your skin was all white. I thought you were dead. I called 911 and started CPR. Bella showed up right after me."_

"_What was I wearing?" _

"_Your fur coat," he answers. _

"_You're leaving things out," she says sadly._

_It takes him a minute to respond. "You don't want to know this stuff, Rose."_

_Her hands shake while she runs them through her hair, her eyes closed. The movement makes me want to get up and hold her. _

"_I have to know."_

"_You got sick, so there was vomit everywhere and you had blood coming out of your nose. I didn't realize how bad it was, and I should have, and I'm sorry."_

Emmett, understandably, has had a lot of trouble wrapping his head around what happened. He was in school, though, and wasn't around for the day-to-day stuff. Either way, he's truly shown grace under pressure, both that night and for the last three months.

Irina walks in with a smile, and sits in a chair across from us, greeting each of us by name. She doesn't carry a clipboard like some of the counselors here, and she's got a casual yet firm demeanor that marries well with Rose's personality.

Rose looks at her nervously, and Irina just nods and turns to us.

"We're recommending that Rose stay for another ninety days. Financially, I'm not sure if that's going to work out, but we've been discussing it at length this week and she doesn't feel ready to leave yet. I've got some information on state funding that she may qualify for in my office for you, Esme, but honestly getting money out of them is like pulling teeth."

Rose pulls at the sleeves of her sweatshirt, looking down. Emmett is watching her, and I can't tell what the look on his face means.

Irina focuses on her. "Rose?"

Her eyes are wet. "I hate this. This part where I have to ask for things. Help or money or whatever. It makes me feel weak and pathetic... and it makes me reallyangry at my parents."

Her dad gave us some money to help with the cost of rehab, but Edward paid the bulk of it with the money sitting in his account. Emmett and I have tried repeatedly to share the financial burden with him, but he flat-out refuses.

"I wrote to Edward, but he hasn't responded yet."

"You know he'll say 'yes'," I say, because he will, and he'll do it without giving it another thought.

"I know, and that makes me so happy and so sad at the same time. Because I know I need it, but I miss you all so much, and I'll miss Edward getting out, and Jake getting out..." She turns her head to look at Emmett. "I'm so sorry, Em."

He just shakes his head and kisses the top of hers.

The car ride home is filled with sweet, quiet music and Esme's hum as she drives.

* * *

Priorities change quickly when someone almost dies. All the shit that Edward and I fought about, the things that I thought were so important, suddenly seemed ridiculous. Really, they probably weren't ridiculous, it's just that I think the mind can only handle so much adversity at one time before you snap. Edward didn't bring up any of my sins after that, and I didn't indulge the part of myself that wanted to lash out and be reckless.

I worry that maybe at some point the things we don't say will resurface, but I try to work on the good parts of us instead of fixating on the bad these days.

And there's so much good.

Emmett is home for the summer, working at his dad's landscaping business. We both work Monday through Friday and we end up hanging out a lot - often with Alice and Jasper, and sometimes with Sam, Jared, Paul and Quil. Sometimes even Leah, Rachel and Tor join us.

Tor and I will never be best friends, but the first time I saw her after Edward got locked up she stuck her chest out and scratched her cheek with one long fingernail, looking me in the eye and saying, "Sorry about E." We've been pleasant enough to each other since.

Leah was the real surprise, though. Rachel had always been pretty friendly, but I didn't expect to see the day when Leah would be kind to me. I showed up at her house a few weeks before everything fell apart with Rose, trying to find her. Esme called, worried because Rose hadn't come home the night before. She had mentioned a party at Leah's.

_It's clear__ that something happened here last night. There are cups, cigarette butts on the porch, and I have to step over half-empty bottles to get to the door. _

_I hear Leah yelling at someone before the door swings open. __I can tell __I woke her up, eye makeup smudged under her eyes and her hair in a messy bun. She leans against the door frame, looking me up and down __and __smirking._

"_Nice outfit." _

_I'm wearing the pencil skirt I put on for work this morning. I can't tell if she's being sincere or not, so I ignore her. "Do you know where Rose is?"_

_She immediately looks off __to __the side, so I know she does. I see her bite the inside of her cheek before she looks at me, like she's trying to keep something off of her face. There's no malice there, though, which makes me more afraid than her anger would._

"_Leah.__..__"_

_I hear a rustle from the room behind her. "Just tell her, Lee. She's not gonna call the cops." I recognize Rachel's voice._

_Leah rolls her eyes and looks me over again. "Well you _look_ like a fucking narc."_

_I don't answer, waiting until she gets bored of this game. It doesn't take long._

"_Fine, whatever. She was with Lauren Mallory." Her tone indicates that she doesn't think much of her._

_The door opens further, and Rachel squints into the midday sunshine, shielding her eyes with one hand. "Fuck." She looks hung over. "You can't go there alone."_

_Leah looks at the ground, noticeably avoiding my eyes._

"_Why not?" _

_She eyes my outfit in the same way Leah did. "They won't let you in," she shrugs, before elbowing Leah hard and giving her a pointed look. She disappears back into the dim house._

_I stand staring at Leah until she looks up._

_She sighs. "Fine. Give me five minutes. And come in, because you are _not _wearing that."_

_Lauren Mallory's apartment is over a vacant piano store, the shop's artwork still visible but decaying. A dark, narrow entryway with a buzzer and faded letters painted on the door indicate I'm in the right spot. When Leah rings the buzzer I hear a click above us and look up to find a video camera trained on __t__he spot __where __we're standing. She gazes up at the camera, and I realize she's showing__ her face to__ whoever's on the other side. _

_Every muscle in my body is tense._

"_Who is it?" a man's voice sounds out of the little box._

"_It's Leah, Ben." She points at me. "And Bella." Apparently this isn't the kind of place where you volunteer your last name._

"_Ben Cheney?" I ask her when the intercom turns off. She nods slightly, but doesn't say anything more._

_There's a long pause. "Hold on." The intercom goes silent again, and after a minute I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Something scrapes loudly on the other side of the metal door, making me take a step back. Leah doesn't flinch. It swings inward, revealing a very thin Ben Cheney, wearing leather pants and a dirty t-shirt._

_He's got a large piece of lumber in his hands, which I realize is being used to further block the front door after he closes it and wedges the wood between the door and the stairs. _

"_What's up, Leah?" he says, his eyes half closed and his movements sluggish. He focuses on me for a second, nodding his head and pointing at me. "Bella…Swan." I just half smile at him. _

_Leah pulls me up the steps when he motions us past. _

_It smells like cigarette smoke and incense in the windowless stairwell, and we follow it up to the top where the door stands open. I stand in the entryway while my eyes adjust to the darkness in the room. Ben pushes past us, and I scan the room that seems large and claustrophobic at the same time, which makes sense when I figure out that the ceilings are covered in mirrored tile, reflecting the room back down on itself. The couches are low and dark and the carpet is thick, leaving the room muted and quiet. White __C__hristmas lights are strung around the room, providing the only light, and people lay around in various states of consciousness. Music plays from invisible speakers._

_I don't see Rose. _

_One of the guys on the couch reaches out when I walk past. "Hey, I know you..." His voice is slowed-down and deep._

_Leah stops and steps around me so she's walking behind me, __putting__ her hand __on __my shoulder for a second. I relax slightly. _

_Ben walks us through that room and then another, where a row of silent __TV __screens show the entryway and various locations __throughout __the building, before pointing down a hallway__.__He smiles__ lazily at us before turning around and walking back the way we came._

_A girl opens the door at the end of the hallway and walks up to Leah, her face friendly, but __she's__ not smiling __stupidly __like the __people __in the last room. I recognize her as Lauren Mallory __although I can't remember how I know her__. Her shoulder-length hair is cool blond and she has a diamond stud through one nostril. __She's wearing a nondescript__ tank top and jeans, and unlike a lot of the people in the other room, she doesn't have any visible tattoos. _

"_Leah," she says, her voice smoky and warm. She slides her hands around her waist and kisses her cheek. Leah sort of smiles at her, but it's clear that she doesn't return the affection __and__ Lauren doesn't seem to care. She puts one hand on her cheek before she turns to me. _

"_From how much Rose talks about you, I thought I'd remember you. Now that I see you, though, I can believe you're the one who tamed the great Edward Cullen," she says dramatically, __her gaze__ lingering on my chest. She walks up and stands too close to me, __her eyes __curious and alert. "Rose says you're cool," she says, like Rose had better be right. _

_She leads us through the door, which she locks behind her, into another section of the apartment. We walk past a brightly lit kitchen where a strung-out looking girl is tapping white powder carefully into gel capsules. She doesn't look up when we pass. _

_I can feel each door __lock __behind me, and a chill creeps up and over my skin. I wonder if this is what Edward feels like. _

_Rose is watching Law and Order, ironically, but her eyes are dead and the skin under her eyes is bruised with lack of sleep. It takes her a second to register our presence. She glances at the table in front of her and__I __can __see evidence of the various ways she's been getting fucked up. Lauren walks around the coffee table and flops back on the couch, watching our interaction with amusement. _

_Rose is obviously high, but this feels like the comedown, like the main event of the evening is over. I'm not even sure if I want to know what that event was, but I think if I had arrived a few hours earlier, this would be a very different scene. _

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_You didn't show up at the loft. Your phone is off."_

_She scoffs. "What, do I need to check in with you now, __M__om?"_

_Lauren laughs. _

"_What about Emmett?" I fire back. "Esme?"_

_She just glares at me._

_Lauren acts like we aren't having a fight in her living room. "Leah, if you want some __M__olly__,__ I've got a bunch." She tilts her head and smiles. "I'll give you a taste test."_

_Leah smiles, her distaste clear underneath __it__. "I'm straight." She means that she doesn't want any, but the double meaning comes across clearly._

_Lauren throws her head back and laughs. "Oh, I think we both know that isn't entirely true." _

_I take a second to process that but focus on Rose again. "Come on."_

_She stares at me blankly for a minute. "Go home, Bella."_

* * *

I didn't realize how much Rose had relied on Edward and Jake. I figured it out the hard way, I guess. Leah and I sat on her front steps when I dropped her off and she told me, without touching too much on her and Edward, some of the stuff she saw him handle over the years. Jake, too.

She filled in blanks that I had forgotten about. I probably could have figured out some of that on my own, but I didn't want to. It was easier to gloss over those parts, imagining Rose laughing and being the life of the party, not dumb and glazed like the people at Lauren Mallory's.

After everything went down, I think we all felt responsible for how far it went and how we let her divert our attention away from her problems even though we knew that's what she was doing.

We're lucky that we still have this beautiful, complicated whirlwind in our lives at all.

* * *

"Do we seriously have to go?" Edward doesn't complain often, but he's been complaining about this for the last month.

"Oh my god, yes. Esme would be... just yes, we _have _to go. She's calling me, like, every three hours with details." His aunt is throwing him a welcome home party at her loft right after he's released.

"Do you have any idea how hard that's gonna be for me?" he asks, his voice getting quieter.

My heart wants to burst out of my chest. "I can't wait to touch you." I laugh at my breathless voice. "You are going to love this apartment. And I'm going to love you in our bed." When I say things that he doesn't have enough privacy to respond to, he just listens. When I'm worked up, sometimes our conversations are almost entirely monologues on my end.

"And in our kitchen. And in the shower. And up against the front door because we can't make it further in before you push my skirt up and..."

"You're so mean."

"You love me."

"I do."

I smile. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he repeats back to me, and right now I think it's the best word I've ever heard.

* * *

**I love you guys. Thank you for reading. xoxo**


	17. True Blue

**If I truly thanked all the people that I love here, no one would read it. **

**Love to my beta, ShearEnvy, who is a damn saint. Love to my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante for being pretty and flaily. Love to shickle1970 for being so warm and so supportive.**

**Love to you for letting me tell this story.**

* * *

I'm nervous. Saying goodbye to Garrett left me feeling sad, and even though I never want to fucking see this place again, I'm going to miss him. I put on the clothes I came in with, placing my wallet and cell phone back in my pockets in a motion so practiced that I still do it the same way.

Some things will be like that, I bet, and some will feel foreign.

I sign what I need to and look at the guard before I go. She nods and turns around, hitting the button that unlocks the last of these doors that I ever want to walk through. My stomach clenches as I cross the small lobby and past the guards there, my hand hitting the handle and pushing open the glass door. I'm looking for her before I even get that far, though.

She's leaning against her car, her eyes fixed on the door I'm coming through. When she sees me she stands up straight and takes one step forward before she breaks into a run. I only have to take a few steps before I dip down to let her crash into me, her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. I stand up and take a deep breath, fucking loving her weight against me and her hands moving over my back, my neck and through my hair.

She lets out this sob that makes my eyes water, or maybe they were already. I can't tell.

"Oh my god," she says, her voice breaking and her lips on my neck, moving across my jaw. And then her eyes are right in front of mine like the best memory. Her breath hits my lips and she puts her hand on my wet cheek before I kiss her. It's me that makes the desperate noise this time, and her legs tighten around me and she arches forward, her breath stuttering when she feels us pressed together like this for the first time in a year.

"Not here," I mumble, but I laugh, because she moans when I say that.

I put her down gently, her hands on my chest. I touch the dip in her waist. I missed that curve so hard. My fingers wipe the tears off her cheeks, and the look on her face is just what I needed to see. "It's you," I whisper.

She nods, and takes a breath. "I feel like..." she starts, but tears swallow her words. I have to clench my jaw to keep it together. It takes her a second, but she get the words out. "I had all these things planned to say, but..._God_...I forgot what being this close feels like. I can't..."

I cover the hand that she has pressed to her chest with my own. I can't breathe.

"I love you," I mouth.

She makes a fist, and I see the chain of the dog tags as she pulls them over her head, freeing them from her hair and holding them up with both hands. I duck so she can slip them around my neck and slide them under the collar of my shirt. They're still warm from her body.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Music that I don't know plays in her car, but she keeps it low and I have to keep reminding her to watch the road and keep her hands on the wheel. I recline in the seat, watching her hair tangle in the wind from the open windows. My left hand trails over her thigh, and I love the way she inhales and holds it when I play with the hem of her dress.

I don't argue with her about the party, even though all I want is to go to the new apartment she's sent me pictures of and slide this pretty dress off of her shoulders. When we pull up on the side street next to Esme's, she turns the keys in the ignition and moves her seat back level with mine, turning so she can look at me.

Our breathing is in time, and she brings her hand up to touch my bottom lip. Our smiles match.

When she gasps and backs up toward her door, her eyes focused on something behind me, I tense up, turning just as she starts laughing.

Someone's bare ass is shoved up against the glass of the passenger window, and when I see Sam, Quil and Jared laughing behind him, I know it's Paul. He backs away and they yank the door open while he pulls his pants up. I get up and out and our laughter dies as we crush together in a silent hug...all of us except Jake.

When we break apart the shit-talk starts, all of them punching my shoulders and talking at once. Sam tells me that Billy had to work so he can't make it, but that I'll see him soon. Bella walks around the car and I pull her under my arm, smiling because I missed this shit. Sam and Bella have a fucking handshake now, and it makes me feel so happy and like I missed so much at the same time.

"Hey!" A voice yells at us from above, and we all look up. Rachel looks down at us from the roof. "Give him some room, idiots. And come up here, Esme's got the grill going."

Esme's name makes my chest ache and we move toward the door in a pack, Bella holding onto my arm that's thrown over her shoulder, her smile wide. We move up the familiar steps and into the loft while the boys go up to the roof. Carlisle and Mr. and Mrs. Swan are in the kitchen. I remove my touch from Bella only because Carlisle hugs me. I shake hands with Mr. Swan and Mrs. Swan kisses my cheek, her eyes shining like her daughter's.

I hear Esme's fast footsteps on the stairs before I see her. She swings into my arms. "Hey, kid," she whispers.

The only dark spot is when I look around the loft and my eyes land on the bathroom. Bella's hand winds through mine again. I turn away and we go repeat the whole thing with everyone on the roof. When everyone has a drink we toast, and I stare at the ground with a smile.

I look back and forth between Bella and Leah while they talk, still not believing what I'm seeing even though Bella filled me in, when a hand claps on my shoulder. Emmett stands behind me, his eyes plagued with a loneliness that I understand more than I would like to. "Hey," I say, and it's the same as with my boys downstairs. We need that hug, but we would never say that.

When we back up, he punches my shoulder. "Good to see you."

Bella watches, but continues her conversation with Leah. I grab her hand again, even though I'm facing the other direction.

He leans toward me slightly, his eyes focused on something behind me. "Thanks for everything with Rose, man, I don't even how to-"

I cut him off. "It's just money. You were there." When he meets my eyes he nods, and I do, too.

Bella tugs on my hand, her attention focused toward the door. Jasper is standing behind Alice. She's got a big pink patterned bag over her shoulder and he's holding what looks like a car seat. They look uncomfortable.

Bella waves and they make their way over to us, Jasper glancing at me before looking back down at the bundle he's got in his arms.

Alice hugs Bella and Emmett and then turns to me. "I know I don't really know you, but I'm glad you're back."

I nod and thank her, and she smiles. Jasper sets the car seat down on a table and turns back to look at me. I reach a hand out to shake his, and he looks relieved and returns the gesture. He turns back to his daughter. "This is Claire."

Alice picks her up and looks at me. "Hold out your arms."

Bella squeezes my hand before she lets go, and Alice puts the warm weight into my arms, adjusting me where she needs to. I hardly breathe, afraid I'll drop her or do something wrong, but Alice pushes my shoulder back so I'm standing to my full height and holding a little person who's looking up at me with bright blue eyes.

She looks so fucking present in her surroundings for being so small. I frown, and just stare at her. "Hi," I say quietly.

Her eyes widen, but she laughs after a second and her arms reach toward my face. I bring her closer and let her grab at my cheeks.

When I look back to Bella she's watching with a smile. Jasper has his arm around Alice and he meets my eyes and shrugs. Claire cries out and I smile at her. There's a flash as someone takes a picture.

People don't stay late, maybe sensing that Bella and I are getting anxious to get home. Neither of us say anything about it, but we go from holding hands, to my arm around her waist, to her sitting on my lap, to kissing every couple of minutes. I have trouble holding conversations, distracted by her skin and the weight of her arm around my neck, her breath on my cheek.

Bella makes a half-hearted attempt to help clean up, but Esme pushes us out the door, shaking her head and smiling. I mirror my position from earlier today in her car, but this time I let my fingers slip under the lacy edge of her underwear, tracing across the outside of her thigh, under her hipbone and back again.

She doesn't speak, or can't. I just stare at her profile while she drives, not watching where we're going. She pulls into a parking spot facing the brick wall that must belong to our building, and finally turns to look at me.

I have to grind my teeth to stop myself from doing this right here. Her breath is uneven, and she reaches behind her to open the car door. I do the same, walking around the car and finding her hand again. She leads me in and up concrete stairs that I hardly see, my eyes fixed on her bare legs and her silhouette, visible through her gauzy dress.

Her hands shake when she unlocks the door, and she tosses her keys and purse on the table right inside, reaching for my hand again. The lights are off and she doesn't turn them on, leading me into our bedroom, visible only because of the city lights coming through the windows.

She turns to face me, dropping my hand and looking up at me. I bring my hands up to her shoulders and hook my fingers under the straps of her dress, sliding them down just like I've been thinking about since this afternoon. My hands go back to her waist and she backs up to the bed that sits low to the floor, lowering herself to the edge and watching while I unbutton my shirt, standing between her thighs.

She hooks her fingers through my belt loops and pulls me closer so she can rest her cheek on my stomach. Her hands slide slowly around to my back, and I don't move, just watching her face, her deep breaths and loving how tightly she holds me. When she turns her head to press her lips to my skin, my muscles tense and I brush her hair back away from her face while she looks up at me. Her fingers trail to my belt buckle and undo it slowly, her eyes on mine as I watch her pop open the button and slide my zipper down. The fabric falls open but she holds it against my hips, her hands pulling me closer and her lips pressing slowly against my abs and moving down.

When she reaches where I'm hard and straining against my boxer briefs, she sighs, kissing me once there. I close my eyes and try not to move, my jaw tense, afraid I'm going to come before I even get her fucking clothes off.

She kisses me again, and I almost grab the back of her head, just so I have something to hold on to. "If you keep doing that..." I warn, my voice rough. She lowers my pants to the floor and leans back on her hands, her breathing faster and her legs spread. I kneel in front of her, wanting her to feel like I did. My hands start at her knees and move up, pausing to grip her hips and press very gently in the spot that makes her gasp every time. I pull at the lace of her underwear, moving them down an inch but not far enough. When my lips hit her stomach she moans. I want to do this forever but the noise makes me lose my shit and I move up to her chest, fumbling with her bra and pulling it down when I get it undone. I kiss her too hard and pull her too close while she says my name, trying to touch all of her at once.

My arm winds around her back and she's got her hand on the back of my neck, her tits thrust into my face and I want to touch her where I can feel how wet she is but not with my fingers.

She begs me to come closer - with her nails and her lips and her breath. When I can't take it anymore, I lift her back further on the bed and stand up, my boxer briefs coming off as shaking fingers push material down her thighs. She's waiting, up on her elbows...the best fucking thing I've ever seen.

The look on her face makes me think she feels the same way.

I kneel on the bed and lower my weight onto her, almost shedding a fucking tear when I feel her. I'm right there, and she's so ready, and I'm afraid I'm going to last ten seconds so I tell her that. She whispers, "We can do it," and pushes her hips up instinctively to meet mine when I thrust forward and we stop when we can't get closer, not moving.

The sound I make is somewhere between laughing and crying, and my eyes tear while I watch her expression mimic mine - brow furrowed and mouth open.

"Again," she breathes as I slide out and back in. "Again..." her voice breaks when my hips hit hers, and I have to stop while buried inside of her or I'm going to come, and I want to keep doing this forever. It takes me a second, but I pull out and push in again, but it's the same thing.

"I can't..."

She pulls my face to hers and I start again, my hips moving with hers and my tongue in her sweet mouth.

"Fuck," I groan against her lips and I can't hold out even though I want to. When I can't move anymore she takes over, fucking me until I come, while I pant into her shoulder, swearing and moaning.

She slows, still hot around me while I kiss soft skin, letting myself relax and breathe.

"I'm sorry," I whisper when I can think again.

She runs her hands over my back, through my hair, and when she speaks I can tell she's smiling. "Don't you dare be sorry. We've got all night...and tomorrow...and the day after that..."

We decide to take a shower together in the ancient claw-foot tub. The space is tight and we have to keep sliding past each other to get to the shower head. She watches me while she rinses the conditioner out of her hair. She's smiling, teasing me, turning around to let water run over her face and arching her back...it's pure torture.

She arches further when my hands find her hips, and she moans when I flatten one palm against her stomach and pull her back against me. My right hand moves lower, almost to the best spot but not quite. Her body rolls against mine, and holy fuck that feels good, too, but I want to make her shake now with my fingers ...and later with my mouth. She's so wet, and I remember that if I don't move enough she'll do it for me, her hips tilting forward, moaning with every thrust, her hand covering mine. I do that on purpose, too, because watching her fuck herself with my fingers, and her wet skin rubbing on me gets me close again.

She falls apart and I hold her up, trying not to give in to the urge to lift her just a little higher and slip inside. When she catches her breath, she leans forward and shuts off the shower, turning back to smile at me, because I won't let go of her hips. I finally do, but only so she can step out of the shower. She hands me a towel and we dry off together, her eyes moving over my body, which she seems to like. She drops her towel and kneels on it, pushing me back against the sink. I grip the edge and watch, moaning when she wraps her hand around me, licks her lips and looks up at me before she leans in.

I don't last long. I go down on her back in the bedroom, and she tells me how she would think about this while I was gone, what she'd do to herself and how much better this is than she remembered. We fuck hard, and we make love gently. We talk and moan and laugh, palms braced against brick, the wooden headboard and each other.

* * *

I wake up early because I'm too fucking comfortable and the noise here is different. It's the sound of cars, horns, trains and the passing words of people on the street, and I'm not used to it anymore. Bella is laying on her stomach with her sleeping face turned toward me, the sheet caught around her waist.

I stare at her for half an hour because I can.

She's still asleep when I get out of bed, opening a few drawers before I find clean boxer briefs and pulling a pair on. It's sunny, and I finally really look around the apartment. The kitchen has an island with stools kind of like her parent's place. I get a glass of water and look at the coffeemaker but it looks complicated so I don't touch it. There's a painting on the wall in the living room that Esme did, and a room that must be the studio Bella was talking about. There's a brand new drafting table and a few things on the shelves, including what look like some of my old sketchbooks. I stand a few feet away and look at them, but don't pick one up.

I'm not prepared for this situation. It's not like in prison they walk you through exactly how to go back to your old life and avoid all of the shit that got you there. Am I supposed to throw this shit away? Am I allowed to reminisce or is that going to leave me feeling like a junkie desperate for a fix?

I walk back into the living room. There's no TV yet, and only a couch, coffee table and rug sitting facing the windows. There's more industrial shelving on the wall, full of records and a new turntable. Beat up speakers sit by the shelves but aren't hooked up yet.

There's a letter on the shelf with my name on it, written in Rose's handwriting.

I glance back at the bedroom, and see that Bella's still asleep, so I sit on the couch and turn the envelope over in my hands, quietly opening it and throwing the envelope on the coffee table. Sitting with my elbows on my knees, I read it through once, and then again, my breathing speeding up and tears in my eyes.

I start to read it again, but I'm going to cry if I do that, so I stand up and pace in front of the shelves a few times before I put my hands on the shelf with the records. I drop my head, my hands gripping the wood so tight I think I feel it give. The paper stays crumpled in my hand, because I'm not ready to put it down.

I stand up and turn when I hear footsteps. It takes me a second to meet her eyes. I know she sees the letter because she's got her fingertips resting on her lips and her eyes are wide as they move over me. With much fucking effort, I relax my body, unclenching my fists and trying to breathe.

But I'm fucking losing this battle. I can already tell. I rub my eyes with my free hand, trying to shake it off, but the anger is there. "God, _why didn't you tell me_?" The words come out sharper than I wanted, but it's better than swearing at her or yelling or fucking throwing shit.

I can't look at her.

"Or Esme... or someone. _Fuck._"

"I didn't know what to do." She's crying, and that makes me swear under my breath. "She wanted to tell you herself."

My anger flares again. "In a _letter_? She tells me this in a fucking _letter_?" I take a deep breath, lowering my voice. "You'd think if she was gonna do that she would have said it in one of the other hundred _fucking_ letters she's sent. You know, when she was thanking me for putting her through treatment, apologizing for all the fucked up shit she's done over the years, asking me if she can stay another three _fucking _months." As I'm talking I ball the piece of paper up and throw it against the wall.

I know I have no right to be mad at Bella. She didn't sell my shit for drugs. This is just so fucked. When I look up she's got her arms crossed over her chest, grabbing at her shoulders and looking away from me, like always when she gets mad or sad or just doesn't want to show her hand. She's wearing my button-down shirt from the night before.

_What am I doing?_

She finally looks back at me and the anger begins to slip away, leaving me just fucked up and sad.

"I did everything wrong." She shakes her head, swallowing and shifting her eyes to the window. "I let Rose fall apart."

I open my mouth to say something and she stops me with a look.

"I should have known what she was doing, but I was too busy wallowing in self-pity and trying to get back a life that I didn't even want."

In the last months, since everything happened with Rose, we haven't talked about this. Some of the same shit crossed my mind, but fuck... I was locked up, so what's the difference? I made my fucking shitty choices, too.

I wasn't there to help her either.

Her voice falters, choked up from tears, and she looks away again. "You know, after she got sober, how she told me that you know about me lying and saying you were in the military? At first she was mad at me and gave me the silent treatment, but after she gave that up, I still couldn't be around her. So I ignored it when she called because she sees through all my bullshit. She sees me... and I didn't want her to. You were gone, Jake was gone, Emmett was gone, her parents were gone, and I shut her out. By the time I figured out what was going on it was too late."

She takes a breath, hugging herself closer.

"So when she came clean about the records she asked me not to tell you and I told her I wouldn't. Because I really let her down. I get that it's not my forgiveness to offer her, but if you had seen her on the floor..." her voice catches in her throat and I'm across the room, pulling her to my chest.

"I am..._so_ sorry," she whispers.

I rub her back until she's calm, my eyes focused on a spot on the floor. When she pulls back she looks up at me sadly. "Guess there are a lot of things we need to talk about."

I nod, but can't help my small smile, because I'm fucking _here_. My dad's records may be gone and we may have made more mistakes than we're allowed to, but we're having this conversation in our apartment, not over a phone line or in a locked room.

People fight. People fuck up. The only thing that matters is that we do this together.

"I'm not gonna fuck this up again," I say. I lean down to press my lips to hers.

"Neither am I," she says.

She shows me how to work the coffee maker. We brush our teeth, standing side by side in the mirror and grinning at each other. I push her up against the kitchen counter while she's trying to mix pancake batter and make her moan my name.

We go buy a TV and a DVD player, and end up fucking on the rug in the living room before we can get them set up. She makes steaks and potatoes and a salad for dinner and I eat so much that I fall asleep halfway through the movie we put on. I wake up to her tugging gently on my hands. She leads me to the bedroom and tucks the covers around me when I fall into bed.

* * *

The next day I make calls to Mr. Swan, my probation officer and Esme before Rose calls. Bella told me she probably would, and that she wouldn't have much time to talk. I'm sitting on the couch when Bella's phone rings. She walks over with a question on her face, and I nod. She hands me the phone and gives me a small smile before she grabs the basket of laundry and leaves the room.

"Edward?" She sounds like she's sure I won't answer.

"Hey," I say, sitting forward and tossing my pen and paper on the coffee table.

"You got the letter," she says, because it's in my voice and my silence. "I meant everything I said."

"I don't doubt that." I don't. It's just that, with her, sometimes it's hard to tell which persona you're talking to. Over the years it's like she split into two people. The one on the other end of this call, and the one who watched me lose my father and would take something that he gave me and sell it for drugs.

After a second she just starts talking, almost like I'm not here. "All day I sit and listen to people talk about every fucked up thing they've ever done. This one guy starting hooking so he could buy crack and got the shit kicked out of him by a truck full of rednecks. One woman would get drunk and burn herself with cigarettes. My counselor Irina stole painkillers from her father while he was dying. Nobody blinks here when you tell them that you're a sick, fucked up person who has hurt everyone around you, because we all are."

Her voice breaks, but she doesn't stop talking.

"You're my family, and I love you. And I am so, so sorry. I'm not sure if I've ever been as sorry for anything as I am for this."

She stops, and I hear her swallow.

"It's okay, Rose."

"It's not."

"Okay, no it's not. I'm not gonna tell you that I'm not mad... because I actually am pretty fucking mad - or sad - or _whatever_. But... I love you, too."

The words come out and I can't remember if I've ever said them to her before. She and I just weren't like that. She was one of the boys. She was one of the only people that I could really talk to, and she listened and gave the best advice, even when it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I took care of her and she kept my secrets, even the ones I didn't tell her - the ones she just _knew_.

She's my best friend, and I don't tell her I love her.

"I'm so sorry, and I just want you to know that I'm getting better and I promise that I'll make all of this up to you. I don't know how yet, but I will."

I close my eyes. "Just get better," I say, and I mean it.

The sound gets muffled, and I hear another voice. "I've gotta go. Tanya needs to use the phone. I'll call again soon."

"I'll see you Sunday," I say, and she sighs, like she's relieved.

"Bye, Edward."

Bella comes back a few minutes later, setting the laundry basket down and settling next to me on the couch. She scratches my back with her nails through my t-shirt, which feels so good I relax, taking a deep breath. We sit like that for a long time, and she doesn't ask me how it went or how Rose is or try to tell me that it's going to be okay.

It's like she knows just what I need.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, pals! There's a playlist linked on my profile. It's in no particular order and is super effin' long and probably makes no sense at all. But that's how I do. **

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	18. Bonfire

**Hi! Missed you.**

**Thank you to my very fantastic beta ShearEnvy, my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante for being awesoooome and to bashfulfan because... she knows why. :)**

**Onward.**

* * *

"I don't like that fuckin' guy."

Every year my dad's firm throws a benefit gala in the summer. I made Edward wear a suit. For that alone he may never forgive me.

"He's an associate, so I have to be nice to him."

We escaped out a side door of the venue for some fresh air. My cheeks hurt from smiling at rich, white men and their toxically thin wives.

"I didn't like the way he was looking at you."

"I can't help that."

He chews lazily on a piece of gum, eyes locked with mine. I memorize the scent of him in that moment - soap, mint and expensive cologne that I bought him for his birthday. He's got his hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants, leaning next to a set of French doors, the curtains offering us privacy from the party inside.

I've been seeing a possessive side of Edward recently that I've never seen before. At first I just chalked it up to a year apart, but it doesn't seem to fade.

The sex is good, though. Like, scary, intense good.

It's worth occasionally walking on eggshells.

"I don't like it," he repeats, looking down at me.

"I like _you_," I say, linking a finger through one of his belt loops and smiling.

"How much?" He smiles slowly, letting his eyes travel to my cleavage.

I briefly consider whether or not I can get this dress up around my waist without taking it off, but the band starts a new song, and I can hear the voices on the other side of the doors. I can't risk getting caught and having my dad hear about my bad behavior at a firm event.

"Not here," I say, but I palm him through his pants anyway, feeling him harden under my touch.

A couple walks out and I take a step back, checking my phone to see how much longer we have to be here.

"Another hour?"

He sighs, but relents, letting me drag him back inside.

When we get home that night, I strip off all of my clothes but make him leave the suit on.

* * *

A week later Jake is getting out and in the days leading up to it Edward's moods are unpredictable, moving quickly from one to the next with no discernible trigger. I just try to roll with it. He's going through a major transition, and it hasn't even been a month. I don't know how long the period of adjustment will be, but I have to imagine it will take longer than that.

I'm late picking him up for Jake's homecoming party and he says he's not mad, but I can see tightness in his jaw.

"Sorry. I got stuck on a phone call." I speed through a yellow light.

"It's fine."

He's just disappointed and wants to see Jake, so I try not to absorb the snap of irritation in his voice.

When we pull up he's out of the car before I get it in park. Jake is shirtless in the sunshine, a 40oz in his hand and a wife beater tied around one of his belt loops. The music is loud and the small yard is full of people. Billy is flipping burgers at the grill and laughing.

The whole scene makes me miss Rose.

Jake spots us and pushes through the gate with his muscular arms wide, hugging Edward and saying something to him in a low voice.

"Bella!" He picks me up with one arm and squeezes me hard. Apparently, like Edward, he spent his time working out while he was away.

Edward pulls me back and puts his arm around me when Jake lets go. Jake's brow furrows for just a second, so I plaster a smile on my face to tell him, without words, that everything is fine.

"Welcome home, Jake."

He grins, bringing the large bottle of beer to his lips and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Let's get drunk."

Edward keeps his arm around me while we sit on the steps. People come and go into the evening, getting progressively more intoxicated and louder as the sky darkens. At the end of the night it's just me, Leah, Rachel and the boys. Jake pulls Edward aside to talk to him, far enough away that I can't hear what they're saying.

"How's life, cheerleader?" Leah asks, her gaze on Edward and Jake. I roll my eyes. When she turns to look at me I recognize the knowing expression on her face, but choose to ignore the implication.

"Everything's great." I nod and smile, but can't hold onto it.

"He's kind of intense right now, isn't he?"

Edward's listening to Jake but his eyes are on me. I nod again.

Rachel leans in to our conversation, her eyes half closed and a joint dangling between two fingers. "Jake, too. It's like he's here half the time, and the rest of the time he's...somewhere else."

Leah and I try not to, but we start laughing.

"That was deep, man," Leah says, shoving Rachel's shoulder, which throws her off balance.

"Whatever, bitches," Rachel says, steadying herself and taking another hit off the joint.

We make light of it, but I start really watching Jake.

When he thinks no one is looking, he gets a look on his face that I've never seen there before. Maybe it's bitterness or maybe it's a symptom of seeing things you wish you could forget. He catches me staring at him and holds my concerned gaze for a beat too long before chugging half the 40oz in his hand. Everyone cheers him on, but I can't bring myself to join in. He doesn't meet my eyes again after that.

On the car ride home, Edward's left hand runs up and down my thigh like he likes to do when I'm driving.

"Jake seems different." I say honestly, thinking about how the easiness he used to possess is still there, it's just diluted.

"Yeah, he looks like he could bench press both of us at the same time."

I smile, but it fades. "It's more than that, though. It's like he's got a wall up now or something."

Edward's fingers slow and then stop, and his voice is flat. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought once he got back everything would be the same."

He removes his hand altogether and I know I said the wrong thing.

"I don't mean that I didn't know the experience would change him...or you." I should definitely stop talking, right the fuck now.

"Yeah." He turns his face away from me, resting his arm on the open window. I don't push him.

It's quiet the rest of the way to our apartment. When we get inside he turns on the TV and I change out of my dress. It's Friday night and I have the weekend off, so I grab a beer out of the fridge and get one for Edward, too.

He doesn't take it when I hold it out so I set it on the coffee table, trying not to be annoyed by the way he's disregarding me.

"We have that dinner tomorrow night." It's one of the partner's birthdays and my dad expects us to attend. It's at a country club.

"About that…" he sits up and grabs the beer, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't think I'm going to go."

I watch him pick at the label on his bottle.

"Why not?"

"Jake just got out. I told him I'd be around."

"And you have to be around tomorrow night, specifically?"

He's quiet.

"Okay. Whatever." Getting up, I walk into the bathroom, leaving the door open while I wash my face. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually he comes and leans in the doorway, beer dangling from his fingers like it weighs nothing.

I pretend to inspect my pores.

"What are you gonna tell people about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"It won't be like that party last weekend. We'll have to talk to the same people all night. They're gonna want details."

I don't know how to respond, so I busy myself patting lotion onto my cheeks.

"What's my alibi, Bella? Military again?" He pulls the dog tags out from under his t-shirt, rubbing his thumb over the flat plates and making them click together. I don't even have to look. I know that sound too well.

I drop my hands, staring at the tile behind me in the mirror, unable to meet my own eyes. I knew that some of the issues we pushed aside after Rose's overdose would resurface, but I'm still caught off guard. It was false hope on my part that he would just move past the lies I've told.

"No. I mean, I don't know."

"Maybe some of those parts of our lives just…" he sticks there for a long moment before he continues. "…have to stay separate."

Thinking back to our conversation in the car, I wonder if he means parts of his life, too. There are things I can't understand, and there are things that he can't, either. Maybe putting him in new clothes and parading him around in front of a bunch of society snobs isn't fair.

Then again, I thought that we could overcome all of the bullshit. I thought that being in love meant that we accepted each other, whether or not we understand each other all the time.

"Meaning?" I don't want to know what he means, really, but the word pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"I'm never going to fit in with those people. I can't talk to them. I'm not like you."

I don't even want to ask what I'm 'like', so I don't.

"I'm really tired. Can we talk about this later?"

He nods, and we stare at each other for a long time. "I love you," he whispers, and for a moment that's all I need.

"I love you, too."

"So, tomorrow night..." he hedges.

I shrug. "It's fine."

I feel weirdly numb then, and as we brush our teeth side-by-side, I watch him the whole time and look for something to quell the uneasiness in my chest.

He says goodnight with a smile that feels just a little bit off, and with my eyes on him in the mirror, I tilt my head so he can press his lips against the side of my neck. When he walks away I press my fingers there and bring them to my mouth.

Without looking, I reach over and flick the bathroom light off so my reflection disappears.

* * *

I attend the dinner alone, dropping Edward off at Jake's first. Jake is on the steps with Sam and Jared, passing around a bottle of liquor that looks like it would make me sick.

My dad pulls me aside when I get there to ask where Edward is, but drops it when my expression falters. I'm the perfect daughter that night, though, laughing at the right times and answering questions just the way I'm supposed to.

Edward was right, too. I find myself carefully manipulating the truth.

My boyfriend is an artist. He's taking time off of school right now. Blah blah blah.

One of the wives engages me. "What's his medium, dear?"

The whole table is listening, and my father gives me a smile. I answer honestly, looking right at the woman who asked. "Paint. Spray paint. He's a street artist. Like, graffiti."

She blinks, taking a moment to recover. "That's interesting. You know, there's a lovely mural near a jazz club that I frequent on Washington."

I know the one. My smile is wide. "Edward worked on that."

I hear a discussion on graffiti begin across the table, the words "broken window theory" and "gang activity" bouncing back and forth, but I tune it out.

"He's very talented," she says, smiling. "I'd love to see some more of his work if he's got anything more...mobile."

"I'll see what I can do," I promise, and we move on to discussing the scallops versus the salmon.

* * *

I offer to pick him up on my way home, excited to tell him about my dinner conversation, but he says he's going to hang out at Jake's for a while. I lay in bed with a new book, falling asleep before I get past the first few pages.

He gets home hours after I do, stirring me with the weight of his body, spreading my legs with his.

"Baby, wake up." There's alcohol on his breath but he moves surely, unzipping his jeans and kneeling to pull his shirt over his head.

It's slow and hard at the same time, but it's his words that get me off - an endless stream of things he wants to do to me, and things he wants me to do to him between long, slow kisses to my neck.

He falls asleep with his head on my chest, my fingers running through his short hair.

I wake up to an empty bed.

After I brush my teeth and inspect the hickey I knew I was getting last night, I find him in the studio, jeans hanging low and no shirt on. Sketchbooks are stacked up on the drafting table. He picks one up and flips through it quickly, putting it back on the shelf.

I'm about to tell him about the woman interested in his art last night, but he speaks first.

"What happened?" I can't gauge the emotion in his voice as he flips a page, tracing the jagged tear in it with his finger.

My stomach drops when I realize what he's seeing.

This is another thing I hadn't thought out. I have no idea what to say, rubbing my fingers along the thin scar up the inside of my wrist. I opt for the truth, delivered in a voice so weak that it's almost inaudible.

"I did it."

He stares at a dark spot of blood on the white page. I expect him to ask me why, or comment in some way, but he just flips through the pages, taking in the damage. I don't have the heart to tell him that some of them aren't there at all, made irreparable by my hands.

His jaw is clenched tightly, and he closes the book, crouching down to slip it back onto the bottom shelf.

I almost don't want to ask. "What are you doing?"

Taking a breath, he grabs another one. He glances at a page and shuts it, this time standing up and slamming it down on the top of the stack that's growing rapidly.

"Sorting out what's mine and what's Jake's. Trying to figure out what's missing."

It occurs to me that I didn't apologize. "I'm sorry," I say, still frozen in the doorway. I swallow hard.

He slams another book down, getting angrier with each one he picks up. Stifling my instinct to run away and lock myself in the bathroom, I approach him from behind, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. When my fingers make contact, every muscle in his body flexes, and his breathing gets shallow. I retreat, cradling my hand to my chest like his skin singed me.

"I'm sorry," I say again, my voice cracking.

"This was everything," he says. "Mine and Jake's. Fucking _everything_." He pulls out another book with hands that shouldn't be as steady as they are, opening to a specific page and turning with it held open for me to see. It's a woman with short, dark hair, laughing. Half of her face is missing, the paper torn and discarded. I recognize that the style isn't Edward's.

"Jake's mom."

He pulls out another. It's a guitar.

"My dad's."

Tears start a path down my cheeks. "I didn't know." It truly didn't occur to me that he would be more upset about this than the records, but the situation brings a sick clarity to my flawed thought process.

He takes a step forward, his fists clenched and a look on his face that I've never seen before. I want to avert my eyes, but I can't. Almost like he pushed me, my shoulders hit the wall behind me painfully as I recoil.

"_How could you not know?_" he yells, his chest heaving.

Roaring, he violently shoves the stack of sketchbooks off the drafting table, letting them slam onto the floor. He stills, and I see the hurt for a second, but when he turns to where I'm pressed against the brick, the hatred in his expression makes my skin go cold.

The evenness in his voice is terrifying. "You know what your problem is, Bella? Your whole life, even when bad things happened to you, you had a choice. You don't know what it's like to really lose something and have no control over it."

My heart hardens, and I can feel something ugly join the fear in my chest. My face goes blank, but tears still fall.

"Fuck you."

He gestures to the sketchbooks. "You already did."

I shake my head, finding my voice, my anger and my strength. He can't talk to me like this.

"You know what I didn't have a choice in? Any of this. Any of the things _you_ did. Any of the choices that _you_ made. So, _fuck you_."

"Oh, poor Bella had to spend a year on her own, hanging out with her ex-boyfriend and making out with skanks at frat parties, making up stories about where her felon, no-good boyfriend went. Poor. Fucking. Bella. Your life has been so hard, hasn't it, princess?"

He doesn't relent, and I start to feel trapped when he takes a step closer, and another, until his palm rests next to my head on the wall and he ducks to bring us face to face. Tears make their way down my face, but I don't break eye contact with him, my teeth clenched so hard it hurts.

"Maybe you'd be better off with one of those guys at your dad's firm. Some rich fuck who needs Viagra to get his dick hard, who can buy you a big house in the suburbs with a golden retriever and a fucking pool in the backyard. Maybe that new guy. He looks like he's aching to show you the back seat of his Beemer."

I slap his face so hard that it echoes around the empty room.

Then I walk out and do what I should have done in the first place... I lock myself in the bathroom.

* * *

I hear glass shattering and cabinet doors being flung open. Sitting on the bathroom floor with my hands pressed over my ears, I feel more the walls shake from the front door slamming.

Once it's quiet I let myself cry out loud, so hard that I can't hear myself, just the rush of blood in my head and the beat of my heart.

I miss Rose more in that moment than I thought was possible, selfishly wishing she were here even if she was still fucked up. I'm a horrible best friend.

When I feel like I can breathe again, I call the only other person I can think of who might understand.

* * *

I'm on my hands and knees, picking up the biggest pieces of glass in the kitchen when I hear her key in the door. A car alarm has been going off outside for the last hour, but it's not bothering me. I let it drown out my thoughts.

"Bella?"

I was hoping Esme's voice would soothe me and somehow make this feel better, but instead I sit back on my heels and cover my face, pressing away new tears.

"Oh, god."

I hear her drop her purse on the counter, and feel her hands under my arms, pulling me up gently and leading me to a chair.

"Don't move. You're bleeding."

Looking down at myself, I see blood on my legs. I didn't feel it, and don't until she gets a wet rag and gently cleans me up, carefully pulling glass out of the wounds.

"Shhh. It's okay. It's not so bad. We can fix this."

After she takes care of me, she sweeps the kitchen and puts water in the kettle to boil. Her bracelets jangle together in the quiet, and I focus on the sound as she moves around the apartment. She pauses when she gets to the studio, and I listen to her carefully walk in and pick up one of the sketchbooks while my head hangs in shame.

When the water is done she makes tea and sets two mugs on the coffee table, coming to guide me to the couch.

"Tell me," she says, once I sit down and curl up with my arms wrapped around my body.

She listens carefully and without judgement while I stutter through the story, pausing to push down sobs that might not stop once they start again.

When I describe ripping apart the books, she tears up and grabs my arm to look at the silver scar.

"Rose told me. She told me what you looked like that day. How much you scared her."

I sniff, rubbing the heel of my hand across my cheeks. "I messed up so bad. I should have told him right away, but I guess I thought that after everything it wouldn't matter."

She tilts her head, and reaches out to hold my hand.

"Honestly, Bella, I thought about doing the same thing a hundred times." Her eyes go to the window, and she spends a minute collecting her thoughts. "The first time he got arrested after his mom left, I was sure I was the worst aunt in the world. I spent all this time trying to figure out where I went wrong, but by the time I got here he was already living his life the way he wanted. I still wonder if I could have done something to make it turn out differently, though. I wonder that all the time."

In this moment I feel the helplessness that Edward described, and know that Esme does, too.

"What should I do?"

For the first time in our conversation, she truly hesitates. "He's so angry right now. I think both of you need some time."

All I can think is that we had a year of time apart. A year to get this right.

"Right. Time."

* * *

**I know. I KNOW. I will make it okay. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read, and thank you for taking this trip with me. And duuudes it really is a trip sometimes.**

**Next chap is EPOV. I love you.**


	19. Baby Blue

**Thank you to my beta ShearEnvy for being kind and cool, and to my prereaders stephk0525 and ilsuocantante for their support and loveliness. Thanks to bashfulfan for too many things to mention. Oh! And thanks to sadtomatoff for the blue star sticker. That one was for you, lover.**

* * *

**oh, what a web I have woven myself in**

**I'm always chasing after **

**somebody else**

**all by myself**

**-Poliça**

"**I See My Mother"**

* * *

It hits me the second I get out the door.

I don't have a fucking license. My car isn't even here. The keys in my hand are totally fucking useless.

I wind up, whipping them across the street. They hit a car and the alarm goes off, but I don't give a fuck.

A woman walking her dog crosses the street.

Jake answers after the first ring. I hear him wake Sam up. Ten minutes.

I walk up a block and wait around the corner, leaving the car alarm behind. I keep reaching up for my backpack strap, a habit I broke in prison. It's possible that I'm losing my fucking mind.

I think of that pile of ripped up shit in the apartment, and I have to palm my fist to keep from smashing the fuck out the brick wall behind me. She did that. It's like she tore up every fucking family photo I had, every fucking memory, every piece of my life up until now.

My hand goes to my dog tags and I try to keep a handle on my anger, but I'm pacing and feel like someone's kicking me in the chest.

It's longer than ten minutes, but when I get in the car it feels like I haven't been here in ten years. Jake's smoking a joint, and tries to pass it back but I shake my head.

"Probation."

He just shrugs, but it's Sam's face that makes me grab it from Jake, holding it between my fingers. Sam watches in the rear-view mirror and the way he looks all worried, like he's trying to tell me not to do it makes me bring it to my lips and inhale.

I cough so hard that I can hardly get it back into Jake's hand. When I stop coughing I sit back, watching the buildings and trees and people go by.

"So what's up? Trouble in paradise?"

I don't answer and don't look at them. Jake turns the music up and I let the bass drown out everything else. When we get to Billy's, Jake tosses me a beer and throws an extra pillow on the couch on the porch.

"Welcome home." He frowns when he says it, though.

* * *

_I can tell she's gone before I open the door. There's a clean space where she hung an ugly-ass "Welcome" sign that looked like it belonged on some country cottage or some shit. It's been there since I was a kid. _

_She makes me put my key on a shoestring around my neck, so I balance my board on the toe of my shoe while I pull it out from under my t-shirt. I hesitate, though. _

_I'd never admit it to anyone, but I'm scared. _

_The door swings open, and if I hadn't snuck out the night before, I would think no one had been here for years. The doorknob bangs against the hallway wall, and I close my eyes, hoping that she'll yell at me from the living room like usual._

_I lean my board in its usual spot but the hall table is gone so it hits the floor and rolls, stopping by the kitchen. I'm really fucking hungry. At least she left the food. I make a peanut butter sandwich and drink a glass of milk, rinsing the glass out and leaving it in the sink. _

_There's a white envelope on my bed. I open it, running my fingers over the bills inside but not bothering to count it. No note. She didn't even write my name on the front. I slide it into my backpack anyway. _

_I freeze when I see what's on my nightstand. My hands shake when I reach down to pick up the pile of silver, pulling on the chain until the dog tags are dangling in my hand. Crushing them in my fist, I fall onto my bed, trying to figure out how long I can get by, but I'm tired from being out all night and can't keep my eyes open._

_I dream in black and white._

* * *

I gave Jake all the cash I had on me to get booze. He delivered, and I'm halfway through a bottle of Jack when my phone rings.

"What?"

"Wow. Getting an early start, huh?"

Fucking Rose. Esme must have called her. She called and tried to get me to talk about it, but all it did was piss me off more.

I've been sitting in the same chair since this afternoon, people talking and smoking and laughing around me. I stand and sway but keep my balance, the bottle still in my hand. People glance at me and move out of my way as I walk to the back porch.

"What?"

She sighs. "Dude, you know what."

I think through the fight with Bella. I can think her name now that I'm numbed.

"You fucking knew, didn't you?"

"I was there when she did it. She totally lost her shit. Cut her arms up. She wasn't okay then, Edward. It wasn't to punish you, or hurt you. Well, maybe it was, but I don't think it was this conscious decision."

My brain is slowed down, hazy. I fall back onto the couch. "You sold my dad's fucking records."

"Jesus. Is Jake with you?"

"Fuck her, Rose. Fuck her. She stole everything."

"You can't do this every time things get bad, Edward. You can't just walk away."

I open my eyes, listening hard to the noise in the background of the call. She shifts, and something rustles against the receiver.

"Look, I know that this is how you deal, but you can't do this to her. Just call her."

The second I pull the phone away from my ear, I realize that I don't have to listen to this shit. I hang up and drop my phone on the floor of the porch, kicking it into the dusty corner.

* * *

_It's Sunday and I'm supposed to go to school the next day, but I guess I don't really have to if my mom isn't here. I meet Jake out by the park and we hit the sides of a mailbox and the back of a few stop signs while we walk. Sam and Jared are grounded for sneaking out but we meet up with Paul at his house. _

"_I scored a joint from my mom."_

_He pulls it out, and Jake leans in, squinting. "Yo, are you sure there's weed in there?"_

_It's just a little pinner and barely gets the three of us high, but we smoke it on the back steps of a condemned apartment building a few blocks away. They talk about getting their licenses and cars - shit I don't see happening at this point - so I stay quiet. _

_At two Jake gets up. Billy won't be home for hours but sometimes he stops home on his break and Jake has to be there. Paul gets up too. He's got a test tomorrow or something. _

_When I don't move Jake kicks my foot with the toe of his dirty kicks. "Yo, your moms is gonna be pissed if you stay out."_

"_It's chill."_

_Jake knows I'm done talking, so he reaches down to bump his fist against mine and he and Paul walk across the empty parking lot. He tags the back of the towing sign. _

_I pull out my sketchbook and a marker, turning to a fresh page. I draw my skateboard in the empty hallway, in the space on the door where the sign was. I draw myself with a fistful of cash like a fucking gangsta. I start to sketch my mom sitting on the couch, just the back of her head and her legs up on the coffee table, watching TV, but I can't finish it._

_Eventually, I walk home and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the sun come up and make shapes on the water-stained ceiling._

* * *

"Hey, E, you okay, man?" Sam always checks on me. Sam's a good friend.

I raise the bottle of Jack half an inch so he knows I heard him. I attempt something along the lines of a nod.

"Some chick keeps trying to come back here."

I feel disgusting.

"Leave me the fuck alone."

He gets the hint, and walks back down the hallway.

I close my eyes and all I can hear is bass and someone laughing really loud in the other room.

* * *

_The doorbell rings a hundred times before I get out of bed. There's only one person rude enough to do that shit. _

_She keeps ringing it after I open the door, smiling like the devil would. I prop one hand on the door frame and push open the screen door, about to tell her to leave when she ducks under my arm and into the house. Her hair is streaked with blue and she's wearing a blue tube top that matches. I hate when she wears those. She flashes her tits all the time, to the point where I've been totally desensitized. Looking at her boobs is like looking at my sister's boobs, if I had one. It gives me the opposite of a boner._

"_Your mom here? I took the bus down. My dad is driving me crazy. He keeps trying to get me to sit down and tell him about my_ problems_." She says 'problems' like it's ridiculous that she would have any. _

"_Bella is being such a bitch right now, too. She told me Jasper thinks I'm a slut. I told her to tell him he's a douche. Actually, I'll tell him myself at school on Monday. Whatever. I can't wait 'til we're in high school and you get your license. It's gonna be so much better than taking the bus everywhere."_

_Stopping in front of the mirror in the hallway, she digs some pink stuff out of her bag and puts it on her lips. She's got a blue star sticker on her cheek and her fingernails are short and chewed and glittery._

_She shrugs her bag off and goes to set it on the hall table, pausing when she realizes it isn't there._

"_Redecorating?"_

_Her voice is easy but she stands there staring at the empty spot, her arm still extended. When I don't answer she sets her bag on the floor and takes a few steps forward, glancing into the living room and the kitchen. Turning back she looks at me with her mouth open, searching my face, and before I can stop her she walks fast down the hallway and turns the corner._

"_Rose."_

_I hear her open the bedroom doors._

_It's silent for a full minute, and when I follow her she's standing in front of my mom's room with her arms crossed over her stomach, her head hanging down. I watch a tear hit the toe of her shoe._

_With a deep breath, she turns her face to the ceiling and wipes off her cheeks. The star sticker gets stuck on her index finger and she carefully pulls it off and sticks it to the door frame. Rubbing it over and over again with her thumb, she turns to meet my gaze after a minute._

"_Are you moving?"_

_It's the saddest question I've ever heard._

_I shake my head._

_She opens her mouth to say something, but turns back to my mom's room instead. I can see when she starts to figure it out._

"_Where'd she go?"_

_I shrug, but have to turn away. _

_Her body hits me like a train, knocking me backwards and pulling me down to the floor. I drop my head back against the wall, trying not to cry while Rose wraps her arms around me, pressing her ear to my chest and squeezing so hard I can hardly breathe._

"_Fuck her, E. We don't need her. We don't need her."_

* * *

I wake up because the birds are loud as fuck.

Sitting up, I close my eyes until the dizziness fades and the headache sets in.

I try to remember the last thing that happened last night, but all I get is static.

My phone. It takes me a few minutes to find it in the corner. The battery is almost dead.

No calls.

No texts.

I check my call history and the conversation with Rose comes back to me. I think I hung up on her. I feel fucking sick.

I see Bella's face, her eyes wide, backing away from me.

Then I really am sick.

* * *

_It's alright at Jake's. I try to give Billy the money my mom left, but he won't take it. Jake and I use it to buy paint and other stupid shit like bottle rockets and slingshots. Billy sets up the porch for me, and when it gets cold he says he'll get another twin bed for Jake's room. _

_Esme shows up before then, though. She and Billy talk on the front porch for a few minutes while Jake and I watch from a window. I already packed up the couple of things that I have. In some ways I'm reluctant to leave, but watching Esme from here, the way she moves like my dad did, and her eyes that look just like his, I know it's right. She catches my eye in the window, where we're kind of hiding. She winks at us._

"_Your aunt is fine." He drags out the word "fine"._

_I punch his shoulder and we box for a minute until he gets me in a headlock. Billy holds the door open for Esme and Jake drops me. She doesn't hesitate, walking over and wrapping her thin arms around me. She smells like the record shop. I'm embarrassed because Billy and Jake are standing there watching me, but for a second I close my eyes and just let her hug me._

_In her van, crystals hang from the rearview mirror and the seats are covered in wooden beaded covers. She tells me about how she found out and left as soon as she could. She says she made one short detour, but doesn't elaborate, and I don't ask. She was working at an organic cafe in Berkeley, California. _

"_Holy shit, that's a long drive."_

_I glance at her, testing the waters to see if she's going to tell me not to swear._

_She just smiles. "I wouldn't do it for anyone else, Edward."_

_My throat gets tight, so I look out the window. She reaches over and ruffles my hair, which makes me roll my eyes and makes her smile. _

* * *

_The loft is fucking awesome. It's totally empty except for the boxes that I helped Esme carry, and there are two beds, one in each room. _

"_You can pick which room you want. They're pretty much the same," she yells from in the kitchen. _

_It's not like I've never had my own room or anything, but this feels different. Esme doesn't have to do this. My mom did. _

_Well, I guess in the end she didn't. _

_She pokes her head in. "You like this one?"_

_Looking at her faded t-shirt and jeans with patches, I wonder how she can afford this, but I don't ask. _

_I nod. "Cool. Pizza for dinner?"_

_I shrug, but I'm starving. With Billy at work so much Jake and I pretty much ate sandwiches and cereal all the time. _

_She orders and sets up a picnic on the floor, opening boxes until she finds pillows and blankets that all smell like incense. I help her set up her tiny television, using tin foil to get the rabbit ears to pick up a station. We watch M*A*S*H* and an old episode of Star Trek and I eat almost the entire pizza before my eyes get heavy._

"_Edward," she whispers. "I'm putting sheets on your bed. There's a toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom."_

_I pee and brush my teeth with my eyes closed, and she's fluffing the pillows when I get into my room. The sheets are soft. _

_She sits on the edge of the bed, and I'm tense at first, but she scratches my back just like my dad used to and I relax, even though I'm too old for someone to tuck me in. I'm too old for bedtime stories, too, but I listen to her voice and drift off anyway. _

"_Let me tell you a story, kiddo. When you were little, your dad used to say that he thought you'd be a famous artist like Picasso or Matisse..." _

* * *

Jake wakes up a few hours after me, even though I sleep in late. I picked up most of the cans, bottles and cigarette butts from the night before. I'm watchingTV. Well, I'm staring at the TV.

He sits in the chair across from me, leaning back and yawning.

I don't like the way he's looking at me. I want the hazy barrier back from yesterday.

"Got any weed?"

"Yeah," he says, but doesn't move. "Listen, E. You're always welcome here. You know that. But what's goin' on? Rose is callin' me... Esme is callin' me..."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

He shakes his head and laughs, running his hands through his short hair. My jaw clenches and my eyes narrow. He's fucking laughing at me. When he looks at me his face sobers, then hardens into an unfamiliar expression.

"Don't," he says.

That one word means more than if he sat down and told me day-by-day, minute-by-minute, what the last year was like for him. I think about what it would have been like if I hadn't had Garrett.

It takes a minute, but I manage to relax. It takes him longer.

I weigh my options. I can sit with this and we can smoke a joint and I can start yesterday over again before today has a chance to catch up with me. I could blur out a week, easy - maybe a month.

When did I become such a fucking coward?

It takes me a minute, but I finally tell Jake about the sketchbooks, the fight, and some other shit that I've been putting out of my head. He listens, nodding and wincing a few times.

"Dude, she lied about so much shit. That whole time."

He stares at me. "So the fuck what?"

This was not the response I was expecting.

"She waited for you, man. A fucking year she waited. And then you flip out and walk when shit gets rough. Just like your mom." He has the courage to say what Rose would only hint at.

My fists clench and Jake waits.

"None of that shit was easy. But no one's life is easy. I watched you go through that and it fucking killed me, but look what you have now. Look at what you're throwing away. And for what? Some fucking paper and some bullshit you need to move past."

I choke words out, my throat closing. "They were your books too, man. Sketches of your mom..."

He shakes his head. "I don't need that to remember my mother. You don't either. We can't go back there again, brother."

I don't know if he means to when we were kids or being locked up, but I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe he means both.

"You need to keep painting. You could actually do something. You could be legit."

I frown. "I just looked at those books, J. You could be, too."

Taking a breath, he looks out the window. "I don't want 'em. I'm starting with Billy at the plant next week. They've got some 'hire a felon' program or some shit."

I look at my friend and realize how different things are now. He smiles, but there's weight behind it that wasn't there before. This might be what growing up looks like. Maybe he's seeing the same thing on my face.

"Get your head right," he says. "Then make it right with your girl."

I drop my head back, closing my eyes.

I hear him get up, and feel his hand on my shoulder.

"The first part is the hard part, E."

He goes back to bed.

I sit there and try to figure out how to begin again.

I wonder if I can.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! I'm on twitter (at)sweetlolapop. Let's be pals.**


	20. Bone

**Thank you to ShearEnvy because she is the shiiiit. Thank you to Ilsuocantante and stephk0525 for flails and love and awesomeness. Thank you to bashfulfan for all the things. **

* * *

Rose is doing fucking great. I spent the first few months after she got out making sure her pupils weren't dilated and wondering if she really just had water in her water bottle. I admit that to her just after she has a year sober, and she just smiles, shrugging.

"I'm an addict, Edward. I made lying into an art form. It will just take time for you to trust me again."

She talks like that all the time. I guess it comes with discussing your shit all day, every day with people. Not much is taboo with her anymore.

We volunteer at the local community art center together a few times a week. She's making cookies for the kids in our group... or that was the idea.

Esme's gonna be so fucking pissed about her kitchen. Rose is covered in flour.

She knows what she did.

I watch her try to scoop egg shells out of the bowl in front of her with a spoon.

"Have you ever made cookies before?"

"Yeah. I mean, they were weed cookies and it was, like, freshman year, but how hard could it be?"

At first I thought it was messed up that she could just talk about shit like that, but she says after spending six months talking about your drug problems you get used to acknowledging the past without making it your present.

I try to remember freshman year. I get a vivid mental image of Jake gagging over the side of his deck after trying to eat one.

"Dude, I remember those. This could be bad. Like, really bad."

She gets the last of the shell out and tosses the spoon into the sink, all smug and shit.

"Has anyone ever told you about the power of positive thinking, Edward?" Sobriety hasn't killed her attitude. I'll say that much. She smiles right at me with her head tilted and turns on the mixer.

Egg splatters all over her shirt, followed by another puff of flour.

"Shit."

I laugh so hard I cry.

We hear Esme's keys in the door. Rose freezes with her eyes wide and her mouth open, looking at the mess around her. I put my head down on my arms, still trying to get it together.

"Oh god you guys, what did you do to my kitchen? Is that egg? What did you do to the floor?"

Rose and I clean the kitchen while Esme finishes the cookies, showing Rose how to break an egg and how to measure out the ingredients.

I take off before they're done, walking to my apartment. It's not bad. It's small, but I have space to paint and my neighbors are cool.

Most nights I eat alone and wash my dishes by hand, records slowly spinning on my turntable and canvases laid up against the walls of my apartment.

I'm trying to get into art school, but I didn't get accepted in the last semester. They told me to work on my portfolio and come back. That means I spend a lot of time alone painting.

I haven't shown anyone, but I think my shit's just as good as it used to be.

I don't really know that, though. I'm just not ready to pop the thin, narcissistic bubble I'm living in yet.

Every fucked up thing I feel comes out on the canvas. Some nights I fall asleep when it's getting light out, getting just enough sleep to make it through the next day.

In some ways it feels right, being alone...

Even if the way I got here means I have more regrets than I can count.

* * *

Rose texts me at the fucking crack of dawn. On a Saturday. I went over to Jake's and had a few beers last night, and was really looking forward to sleeping in today and taking a long shower. Maybe jerking off, like, three times.

It's been a long fucking week.

It doesn't help that I've been having vivid sex dreams lately. I guess this is what happens when you practically go celibate for a year.

_Coffee shop. -R_

I shove the phone under my pillow.

A few minutes later it rings.

"Let me _sleep_, woman."

I can almost hear her smile. "Whatever, I want chai tea and that spicy sausage burrito thing. Esme said spicy foods are good for my dosha."

I rub my eyes. "Dude. I seriously don't want to hear about your lady problems."

She laughs hard, her voice getting quieter while she relays the exchange to Esme, who cracks up as well.

I groan, stretching.

She sighs. "I actually have to talk to you about something." The tone of her voice wakes me up. I blink at the ceiling.

"What?"

"Half an hour?"

I agree and get out of bed and into the shower.

I'm gonna be late but I have to fucking come or I'm going to be thinking about it all day. I don't dream about Bella, really, and I try not to think about her when I've got my hand on my cock, because it's kinda fucking sad, honestly. They're her tits, though. And it's her mouth.

_Fuuuuck._

I wipe the mirror off and run my hand over my jaw. I skip shaving.

Throwing on a t-shirt, jeans and a baseball cap, I stuff a bandana in my back pocket and grab my phone, locking the door behind me.

I'm about a block from my place when I see a tag that makes me stop. Fucking Seth. He put muriatic acid in the marker so it etched into the front window of a tobacco shop. Most of the time the whole window needs to be replaced. I shake my head.

I'm going to have to find him this afternoon and talk to him. Hopefully the program director won't see it. Seth could get kicked out of my group at the art center, which would suck, because he's one of the best artists I've got.

Rose is already there when I show up, ordering at the counter. She glances back when I walk in and I hear her order me black coffee, so I grab a table. The chick who works the register is on my nuts and I'm running out of ways to avoid what I know is coming. She sees me and bites her full lower lip, smiling. I don't hold her gaze for long. I should want that. I try not to think about why I don't.

Rose sets down my coffee and then her own drink, an eyebrow raised.

"That chick practically salivated into my chai when you walked in."

I glance at her as she rings up some guy. She's pretty. Really pretty. I shrug.

"I don't know."

Rose fidgets, and I remember she's got something to say. I don't press. I just wait.

"Bella's dad is sick."

The impact of that statement feels like hitting a wall going seventy. Instead of fighting it, though, I let it wash over me. "What kind of sick?"

"Prostate cancer. He's having surgery and then radiation. They don't think he'll have chemo."

Because I'm a guy, I cringe in sympathy. It's like watching someone get kicked in the balls, but worse. So much fucking worse.

He and I have kept in touch to a certain extent, out of necessity at first but then because he would call me to check in every few weeks... then every few months. I think back to the last time we talked and wonder if he knew then that he was sick.

"She wanted me to tell you."

I stare at her, trying to figure out what the fuck that means.

The barista brings over Rose's food and sets it down in front of her. She stands there for a second, smiling and biting that lip, before she reaches into her apron and pulls out a receipt.

"You should call me sometime." I take the paper from her hand. She dips before I can respond.

I slip it in my pocket and look back at Rose. She raises her eyebrows.

I close my eyes for a second, trying to clear my head.

"Why would she want me to know?"

She takes a deep breath, picking up her fork and stabbing a piece of sausage. "I don't know, man. She's kind of emotional right now. I think she just misses you."

Of course we miss each other, but that's not the fucking point. That was never the problem. Bella and I could always be counted on to have a perfect, passionate reunion. It was the follow-up where we fell apart.

This last time, we really fucking fell apart.

That was then, though. I see things a little differently now. A year will give you a whole shitload of perspective.

"She's having a really rough time, E."

I imagine Bella watching her dad go through this. She may have ended things, but I wouldn't wish this shit on anyone. Still, I don't know what it means.

"So, she wants me to know. Am I supposed to call her or show up on her doorstep? I don't get it."

I play it out in my head. I call her and we meet up. She's in pain and I'm the antidote. Somehow I end up between her thighs. I swear I don't want to and I try to stop it but I get hard.

"She's dating someone." And then I'm not.

She might as well have punched me in the fucking gut. Part of me wants to ask who and how and all that shit, but I shut that down fast. It's none of my fucking business. I take a shallow breath.

"I don't think it's serious. I just had to tell you. In case you were thinking..."

It kinda sucks that she can tell. "Yeah, I get it."

"She could use a good friend right now, though."

"She's got you."

"Well, yeah, and clearly I'm the shit, but there are things I can't relate to that you can." It's blunt, and she's right.

I change the subject to Emmett. It's a cheap move but her instant smile is contagious. I let myself get lost in their happiness for a few minutes.

Before we leave I make eye contact with the barista. I wonder if she wrote her name on the paper, because I don't know it. I smile at her, watching her blush.

"I think she just had an orgasm," Rose whispers as we walk out.

God, I need to get laid.

* * *

I stop by the center to check in and see what's going on, jumping in on a game of basketball for a minute before leaving to walk toward the park. I haven't been to the bench in years now, but I'm not surprised that I still know a bunch of the people there.

I'm greeted like a prodigal son, kids a few years younger than me whipping out shit to show me in books, pictures on their cell phones and telling me how they almost got busted but didn't... same old shit. I spot Seth. He nods at me, but returns to his book, keeping his head down.

They ask me shit about prison and what I'm doing now, kind of tripping up when I tell them I'm not writing anymore.

One kid tries to talk shit. It's almost funny.

"You ever been locked up?" He looks like he's sixteen or so. He reminds me of Jake.

He puffs his chest out like he's about to act tough, but his friends start shaking their heads and rolling their eyes.

"Yo, his mom still packs his lunch!"

"And she writes shit on the bag like 'have a great day, honey.'" They all laugh but I just smile at him.

"It's all good, man. My aunt still cuts the crust off my PB & J." It's true. She does.

Seth gets up, says peace to his friends and walks back the direction I came from.

I see my chance. "I'm out, y'all. Stay out of trouble."

They laugh, shaking their heads, but there's no ill will. There's so much good shit here. I miss some parts of it, but I still have my boys, and we've all moved on.

I walk away glad I don't feel the way I used to about any of it.

"Yo, Seth!"

He waits and I jog to catch up. "What up?" he says, his hat pulled down so I can't see his face under the brim.

"Nothin' just wanted to get at you for a second."

We walk for a minute before I say it.

"You trying to get kicked out of the program? I saw the tobacco shop."

His steps slow a little, but he doesn't raise his head.

"You're killin' me, kid. If someone tries to boot you, I don't know if I can stop 'em this time."

He shrugs.

"Just don't make me do this mural without you. It won't be half as good."

Sam pulls up. I told him to pick me up by the park. "I'm out. You need a ride?"

He hesitates, gripping the straps of his backpack and shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Naw, I live far."

"It's cool. Hop in."

He meets my eyes for the first time and only for a second. "'kay."

* * *

_It's not how I wanted to see her after we broke up._

_She called and asked me to come over. I ring the buzzer and she lets me in. Everything looks exactly the same, which shouldn't surprise me, because it's only been three months._

_Most of the lights are off, and she's sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in her hand. The bottle next to her is mostly empty._

_I walk in and lean on the counter across from her. She looks thin, but good. Her legs are bare and she's wearing a t-shirt I remember. It used to be Rose's. She doesn't have a bra on. I try not to stare._

_She lifts the glass of wine to her lips. _

"_Hi."_

_I smile. "Hey."_

"_How have you been?" _

_There's no point in lying. "Shitty."_

_She sighs, dropping her eyes to my chest. "Me, too."_

_We've texted a few times and we had to deal with some bills and shit, so it's not like we haven't talked, but not like this. I scan her face. _

"_Why'd you call?"_

_She puts down the wine and sits up straight, running her fingers through her hair. Her legs are spread just a little. When I look up she's watching me watch her. She grips the edge of the counter. _

"_I miss you," she whispers. I'm about to think with my dick but something screams at me from the back of my head. _

_I don't want to ask. Fuck, I really don't want to ask. I want to slide that t-shirt off her body._

"_Have you been with anyone else?"_

_She stills, but shakes her head. _

"_Have you?"_

"_I haven't slept with anyone." The 'but' is implied._

_She laughs in disbelief. "I should've known."_

"_What does that mean?"_

_Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't answer. She drains the wine out of the glass and empties the rest of the bottle into it._

"_You asked me to leave. We broke up." _

"_I said I needed _time_, Edward." _

_I'm fucking lost. We said so many things that felt final. Was I supposed to be waiting for her to decide to take me back? I'm just starting to get over the fact that the girl I love doesn't want to be with me. I'm trying to get my shit together, because I want to be a better fucking person. I want to be the type of person someone like her could be with._

_I stare at her, because I'm back three months ago, my heart cracking in the same spots all over again._

"_And now you've had enough time, or what?"_

_She doesn't answer, but I can still read her._

"_So, tomorrow morning, when you sober up..."_

_Her eyes are wet but I don't have any tears right now. _

"_I shouldn't have called." I hate how bad that fucking hurts._

"_No. You shouldn't have."_

_There's nothing else to say._

* * *

I've been sitting with my phone in my hand for twenty minutes, staring at a painting that I propped up across from my bed. I'm done with it, finally, which makes me feel good and fucked up at the same time. I almost didn't want to finish it.

I slide my finger across the screen and find the number I want, hitting the call button before I can second-guess myself.

Her voicemail picks up after a few rings.

It's a generic message. Not her voice. I'm more disappointed than I should be. I'm quiet for a few seconds after the beep, considering hanging up.

I attempt to locate my fucking balls. I speak slowly, trying not to mumble.

"Bella. Hey. It's Edward. I assume this is still your number. Maybe I should've asked Rose, though. I don't know. Anyway, she told me about your dad. I know we haven't talked in... yeah, but I just wanted to tell you that if you want to talk or anything, I'm here. I mean, I'm at my apartment."

God, I'm fucking idiot. I sit up on my bed, trying to figure out what to say. I stare at the painting.

"I've been painting. I'm trying to get into art school and I'm working on my portfolio. I'm working at the Southside Art Center. Rose probably told you that."

I pause, taking a long breath.

"Esme's good. She opened another studio so she's been crazy busy, but she's happy. Shit, you probably know that, too."

A cop car goes by out my window and I close my eyes, waiting for the siren to fade out.

"I'm sorry. You may not want to hear from me. After everything. I just wanted to tell you I feel really bad about your dad. He was always good to me."

There's more I want to say, but I'm not sure what's okay to say to her anymore.

"Call me back if you want, or not... I understand. Hope everything's good. I'll be thinking about you."

I hang up and drop my phone, rubbing my hands over my face.

I hope I'm doing the right thing.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! I love you. Hit me up on twitter (at)sweetlolapop. **


	21. Ultra Flat Black

**People I couldn't live without: ShearEnvy, stephk0525, ilsuocantante and bashfulfan. These dudettes are my heart.****  
**

**Also, you. Oh, yes. You. **

* * *

You can't completely erase someone from your life. They're still there, hiding in spots you can't quite reach.

Somewhere they have a little of you, too.

It makes me feel like I'm not whole.

Edward took a lot with him when he left. He took his sketchbooks. He took his toothbrush. He took sex. He took laughter.

I counted on all that, but I didn't realize he would take entire people with him, too.

It was my decision, though. I got so buried under hurt and shame and an overwhelming, latent need to feel like I'm not a total fucking doormat that I lost sight of us.

After the sketchbooks we didn't fight. We said we were sorry until the words lost meaning.

I watched him shut down. It threw me back years, into uncertainty and insecurity I thought I'd moved past. I started to provoke him, wanting anything, any passion or real feeling, even if it was anger. Sex was the only reprieve. He was rough and so was I, but afterward he was the one with guilt on his face.

I told him we needed time apart and he fought, but not hard enough. It made me bitter. It made me say things that he didn't deserve. It made me say things that I can't take back.

When I saw him again I started to think I made it all up, that I fabricated his impassive expression and his indifference. He looked me in the eye again. He said he was shitty and he meant it. He was present in his own life, and the only real change he'd made was that I wasn't a part of it.

I felt the breakup then...too late. It felt like visiting a grave.

Months slid by like liquid, in a way that I would have killed for at a different time in my life. I would come up and take a breath, only to submerge myself under again.

For a long time I wouldn't drive down seventh because of a mural he did there, and I stopped going to my favorite coffee shop. I found a semblance of a life but it felt pale and thin like a movie screen- like my fist would punch right through the picture if I could have gathered the strength.

Of course, at some point I stopped being so melodramatic. I made friends and when I smiled it didn't hurt.

Those sad, little platitudes that people spouted at me actually did start to come true. Things _do_ get better. Tomorrow _is_ another day. Time _does_ heal all wounds.

I'm reasonably content. Good, but not great. It would probably be a whole lot easier if I didn't remember what 'great' felt like, but I look around me and determine that everyone has some pain that gives them character. I'm sure my pain is Edward Cullen. I'm sure I'll run into him one day and we'll share a meaningful look and I'll ache for a week afterward, the way I still ache each and every time I let myself remember.

I'm sure of that until my dad gets sick. Survival rates and medical terminology get stuck in my throat, but when I ask Rose to tell Edward it's the easiest thing. I say it in passing, like it's nothing.

She catches my eye and for a second I feel the gravity of what I'm doing. Tears hit my eyes, but I think of my dad and how strong he is. It's what keeps me together.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

I nod.

* * *

My old room smells the same, just stuffy like the door's been closed for months. It probably has been.

I slide the windows open and sit on the bed, looking out at the view that I memorized over the years. It's amazing how very much the same it is, like time slowed to a stop while I was gone.

I know that's not true, though. Everything keeps on whether or not you're there to watch it happen.

My phone buzzes on the bed next to me. Rose's face and middle finger fill the screen.

"Hey," I say, leaning back against the headboard.

"How is he?" she asks automatically.

"Doped up. He keeps singing _Night Moves_ and trying to grab my mom's boobs. I'm hiding out in my room."

"What is it with him and Bob Seger?" We laugh.

"It's so weird being here. It's like I could wake up tomorrow, put on my cheerleading uniform and go to homeroom." I can see my old uniform from here, dry cleaned and wrapped in plastic, hanging in my closet.

She pauses. "Oh my god, you're just sitting there reminiscing, aren't you? Thinking deep thoughts... waxing nostalgic... staring wistfully into the distance and sighing."

I'm quiet. Too quiet. She starts laughing.

"You suck."

"Aww, I love you." She says it affectionately and I can imagine the look on her face right now, smiling and only a little bit sarcastic. "But you seriously need to stop acting like you're in a Nicholas Sparks novel."

"My life is tragic and unfulfilling," I say, deadpan.

"I know you're kidding but that is, like, so depressing, B."

I shrug and sigh. "This whole thing just reminds me that there's something missing."

When she finally speaks her voice is gentle. "Why don't you call him back?"

I let out a slow breath, my stomach belying my true feelings. I didn't tell Rose that Edward called. Since we broke up she's been very careful about what she says, edging around his name like it's sharp. Now I know they talked about it... about me.

I'm fucking seventeen again.

"I don't know what to say to him."

"He's not so different. Neither are you." I flash back to the weeks before we broke up, and wish I could show her. She was still in treatment. "You wanted him to call, right?"

The sun starts to set and I catch myself in another moment. Rose would shake her head if she could see me. "Yes. I'll call him back."

I hear Emmett say something in the background. "Em says 'hi'. I'll stop over tomorrow, okay?"

"'Kay."

We hang up and I let my phone hang heavy in my hand before I set it on the nightstand, ignoring a text from Alec.

Downstairs, my dad is asleep in his makeshift bed in the living room while my mom sits in the armchair watching him with the TV down low. I curl up on the floor in front of her, resting my head on her knee.

She runs her fingers through my hair with one hand, a glass of wine in the other. I match my breathing to my dad's and close my eyes. I send him every good thought I have, all of my light and love.

* * *

I'm a coward, so I text Edward. He suggests meeting for coffee. I pull up to the same meter I parked at three years ago and sit there for a second, looking at the neighborhood. I felt like I was a part of this once, but now I don't recognize the kids on the street and some of the businesses have turned over into new ones.

Stepping out of the car, I tug the hem of my short skirt down to a more appropriate length. I shouldn't have worn it. It's a cheap move. He always loved me in skirts.

The girl behind the counter keeps squinting at me like she's trying to remember my name or something. I don't recognize her. I pay and take a table by the front window, flipping open the book I brought as armor.

I do my best to get lost in the words on the page and just before he touches my shoulder I get chills.

I startle and knock my phone onto the floor, almost losing my coffee over the edge as well.

"Shit." I still my mug, and he picks up my phone. I get a look at him while he reaches under the table, his brow furrowed.

My skin flushes. I'm not ready for this. I'm not fucking ready for this.

I brace for impact as he straightens, setting my phone next to my book. He keeps his eyes down, looking up as he sits in the chair across from me. He leans back and takes off his hat and sets it on the table. I forgot that he does that.

"Hi."

"Hey," he says.

We stare for too long. I break it first, glancing at my book and closing it slowly. My heart beats too fast.

I frown down into my coffee. When I look up he's got his eyes on my lips. His gaze bounces back up and he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. My reaction is instant and visceral. I run my palms down my thighs nervously. His gaze follows.

_Fuck._

We stare for _way_ too long this time. I can feel him, like his hands are on me. I swallow hard.

"This is so awkward," I whisper, unable to look away.

He surprises me by slowly breaking into a wide smile and laughing. I can't believe I let myself forget what that sounds like.

"I know," he says, shrugging like it can't be helped. He's right - it probably can't.

I relax a little and can't help smiling. He leans back further in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

I tilt my head and watch him. He's got paint on his hands and shirt. He's tan and there's a quality to his expression that I had forgotten about. I think it's contentment. It looks good on him.

"How are you?" he asks quietly, appraising me in the same way.

I give him the abridged version of my dad's ordeal. He nods, watching me closely.

"How's your mom?"

For some reason that bit of kindness makes me want to cry. I smile through it, though, sure he can see that I'm struggling, but unable to stop it. "She's okay. She says 'hi'."

We run through the list of people we know mutually. It's hard to hear about Esme and all the boys, Leah and Rachel, but I smile and nod. He asks about Jasper, Alice and Claire.

I can feel when we hit the wall where polite conversation ends. He bites his lip again and I want to kick the table out of the way so I can straddle his lap. The thought makes me cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together. I look down to regroup.

_Focus, Bella._

The shop is mostly empty.

"Listen, Edward. I need to apologize."

He frowns and looks away for a second, his knee bouncing. "If we start that we'll be here all night."

I'm not sure what he means. I doubt it's what it sounds like but I squint at him, trying to read his face. When he looks at me he shakes his head.

"No, I meant... I have so much to apologize for. I was messed up, and I didn't realize how bad it was until later. You deserved better."

In the version of this conversation that played out in my head, I only heard my apologies, not his.

I'm a rapidly melting ice sculpture, my eyes watering and my skin on fire.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I fucked up," he says.

I want to say something reassuring, but I can't. "You _gave _up," I say, correcting him.

He scans my face before looking away again. His knee bounces. His mannerisms haven't changed. I can smell his soap and under that, skin that I used to know better than my own.

"Yeah, but so did you." He's still, our eyes locked.

I hate this past tense. I hate that he's right. My instinct is to be defensive, but I push that down. I try to remember what I planned to say. My mind flashes back to a scene that I try not to think about. The first night we were together he watched me like I was the only other person in the world. I don't know how I could let go of someone who looked at me that way.

"That's why I want to apologize. I'm sorry. For everything."

The words come out studded with tears. I wipe my cheeks. He pulls a napkin out of the holder on the table and holds it out.

"I forgive you if you forgive me."

I nod. Reaching out, I take the napkin from his hand. Our fingers touch.

The air is cleared, in theory, but he still seems unsettled. He stares at his hands, frowning. It's not the reaction I hoped for, but I have no right to expect anything more.

"I don't know if we can be friends."

His head snaps up and he leans forward.

"Please don't say that."

The intensity in his face makes me want to reach out and press my palm against his cheek. I want his lips on mine so badly it hurts. This is why we shouldn't be friends. Every time I see him I'm going to want to touch him. I picture us at Jake's, another girl's hands on him and it makes me feel sick.

No, this can't work.

He speaks before I can. "I want to show you something."

I hesitate. "Okay."

He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets, stepping back to give me room.

"Where are we going?"

Frowning, he looks at the ground. "It'll only take a minute."

My bag feels heavy. The girl at the counter looks between us as we make our way to the door. I focus on his back, the muscles under his t-shirt familiar and foreign at the same time.

He holds the door open for me so I can walk out first. I stop, waiting for direction. He nods toward the alley and I fall in step next to him, listening to his shoes on the pavement. He keeps his head down.

A half a block away I look out between the buildings and see my car on the street. We're behind the record shop. There's a group of kids standing in the alley. They look up as we approach, nodding when they see Edward.

"What up, E?"

He stops, exchanging handshakes and words I don't catch. He looks at the wall they're standing next to and presses his fingers to a fresh tag, holding his hand out to one of them. The kid protests, but finally hands him a marker. Edward pockets it, shaking his head.

"Come talk to me tomorrow." I'm surprised by the authority in his voice.

"Aw man, come on. You know how it is."

"Tomorrow," he says. The kid looks at the ground and Edward squeezes his shoulder. He ducks his head and says something in a low voice.

A throat clears and I look over at the rest of them, clutching the straps of their backpacks and looking me up and down. There's recognition and approval on their faces that I don't understand. I smile and they smile back.

I look at Edward.

"Get out of here," he says to them, a slight grin on his face. They laugh and walk away as a group, a few of them looking back at me when they walk away.

He leads me further down the alley. I look around, trying to figure out where we're going.

We turn into an alcove behind the building. There are chairs, an ashtray and a few beer cans. This is where the guys at the record store hang out after work. Now I remember that we hung out here a few times when Paul worked here. Edward turns to face a wall, a flickering street light bringing it into focus in pulses, then flashing bright for a long moment.

My jaw drops and I blink, fighting tears.

I recognize the style of his curves - the weight of his composition. It's jarring and perfect, the contrast between the color and the black and white.

The colorless face is mine, smooth and aloof, eyes looking out at the beholder, which at this moment just happens to be me.

Bright stripes angle out, hair in bright pinks and yellows... blues. The light dims and pulses again.

There's a date in the corner. It bears the year, but not the month. There's an 'E' next to it.

"It's legal. Permit and all that."

My hand covers my mouth.

He's a step behind me. I'm stuck still, trying to make sense of what's in front of me.

I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't look away yet.

I think I found the part of me that was missing.

* * *

**All I want in the whole world is for these two to come correct. And so shall it be done.**

**Thank you so much for reading! Let us clink our glasses and swerve like pimps. **


	22. Chrome

**Hello!**

**Missed you.**

**Thank you to ShearEnvy for her radness. Thank you to stephk0525, ilsuocantante and bashfulfan for the support and love and smoohs.**

* * *

I watch her take it in, the bright colors laid up on the brick. Her hand covers her mouth and she holds a breath for so long that I almost reach out to snap her out of it. This was either a great idea or a really fucking bad one. I'm not sure.

Everything depends on her reaction. I might break again but at least I'll know. At least I put it out there.

A tear shines down her cheek, reflecting the street light. She drops her hand and her lips form a word that she doesn't say out loud.

Slowly, she turns to face me.

"Why are you showing me this?"

Maybe I thought it would speak for itself, because I don't have an answer ready. After a minute I can see her frustration.

"Because, it doesn't just-"

"I want to try again," I cut her off.

She stops short, and I take a step toward her.

"I'll do whatever it takes."

She looks back at the mural and I wonder if it's too late.

My next words don't come easily. I take another step closer. "Rose told me you're dating someone, so I wouldn't blame you if you walked away right now."

She looks at the ground and I wait for her to turn and leave. I wait to hear her footsteps fade into the city sounds. Her hand reaches out and I can't move—can't breathe. She grabs my t-shirt and makes a fist, but doesn't pull me closer. She pushes her knuckles against me, like she's thinking about pushing me away. My muscles flex in response and she drops her head further, taking a deep breath.

"Fuck."

There's so much in that word. There's hope...there's aching... and a heavy, heavy weight.

I want all of it.

I'm still and balanced, waiting to see which way we'll tip. Her fist tightens and she's gripping so hard it must hurt. She doesn't look up and I step closer again, pushing her fist harder against my stomach. After a second her hand relaxes and she slides her palm flat, lower, low enough to make my breath stutter and my muscles shake.

"We can't start this way again," she whispers.

I'm so hard it hurts, but I take a second to get my shit together and try to think rationally. She's right. She's so fucking right.

Wait.

_Again._

She said _start again_. My head snaps up and she's staring at me. She's also saying that she's with someone. I bounce between hope and jealousy.

"You really want to do this?" she asks.

I nod, but I think she needs me to say it out loud. "I really want to do this."

She exhales. "Okay. I need to..." She gets a pained look on her face and I can tell she's thinking about the guy she has to break up with. I don't envy him, and maybe I should feel bad, but I don't- not even a little. Fuck that.

"Yeah?" I ask.

She nods, hesitating, but then she smiles and it's like mine, like it's taking over her whole body. I want her lips so bad I lean closer, but back up after a second. I have to wait. I bite my lip hard and her eyes are on me.

Her thumb circles once just above my belt before she drops her hand. She smiles.

It takes everything I have to not touch her.

When I walk her to her car she walks close to me, but I keep my hands shoved in my pockets. Her arm brushes against mine and she smiles.

She glances at the spot at the front of the record shop where we kissed for the first time and pauses, looking down at the keys in her hand.

"I want to do this right, Edward."

I nod. I know exactly what she means.

* * *

She calls at 2am. I've been asleep for an hour but I answer anyway. My shoulders are stiff from painting. I stretch.

"Hi." It sounds like she's in bed, too. Her voice is muffled. "Do you want to come to my parents' house tomorrow? My dad's complaining that no one uses the pool anymore."

She pauses and I rub my eyes, smiling because all of this suddenly feels fucking real.

"He wants to see you. Rose and Em are coming, too."

I try not to sound as eager as I feel. "Yeah. What time?"

We work out the details and then it's quiet for a long moment. I want to ask her if she broke it off with that guy, but I'm not sure how.

"I told Alec I just want to be friends."

Apparently we're both thinking about the same thing.

I realize I have no idea what the right response is. Maybe I should stop grinning.

"Was it bad?"

She sighs. "No. No, he's a nice guy, which is almost worse. It's not like it was serious, though. We only went on a few dates, so... yeah."

Somehow that doesn't make me feel better, but I have no right to be angry about any of that shit.

"I'm sorry."

She laughs. "No, you're not."

We both laugh. I can hear her shift around in bed. It reminds me of being locked up, of closing my eyes and pretending I was with her, blocking out the brick wall in front of me.

"This feels... fast. Not in a bad way, just... fast," she admits.

I close my eyes. "Really? 'cause I was going to ask you to come over right now."

I adjust my dick in my boxer briefs and then I'm only half kidding.

"That's actually really tempting," she says, and I can picture her in bed, in a t-shirt and panties and nothing else.

"Quit teasing me, woman," I mumble.

She kind of giggles and yawns at the same time. It's fucking cute as hell and right then all I want is to just have her next to me. Not even to touch her. Just to look at her.

"So... see you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," I say.

There's a pause where we used to say 'I love you'. I think we both feel it.

"Night," she says quietly.

I say the same and wait for her to hang up. It takes me another hour to get back to sleep, and I dream of running my paintbrush over soft skin, kissing each spot before I cover it.

* * *

"Oh, Edward, you shouldn't have." Mrs. Swan takes the flowers with one hand and pats my shoulder with the other. "I'm so glad to see you," she says quietly.

She pushes me toward the living room, where Bella's dad is on the couch, looking thinner than usual but other than that, pretty good. He tosses the remote on the coffee table and gets up, wincing a little. He gives me a look that tells me not to comment.

"Hey, kid," he says, sticking his hand out. His grip is still strong, and he gives me that same look as always, part father and part friend.

"How you doin', Mr. Swan?"

"Fine, fine." He waves his hand in the air, dismissing the question, and starts in on preseason football. If I was sick I wouldn't want to talk about that shit either, so I roll with it, letting him dictate the conversation. He asks me what I've been up to and I break it down for him. He seems happy.

Mrs. Swan comes in with two pills and a glass of water. He swallows them without taking his eyes off the TV, but before she leaves the room he reaches over and squeezes her hip. She leans down and kisses him.

The sliding door in the kitchen opens and slams shut. Rose pokes her head in the room. "Oh good, you're here. Quit sucking up to Charlie and come out to the pool, E."

"Rosalie," Mr. Swan warns, his eyes still on the TV. He's not mad, though. "Go on. Get out of here." He nods toward the back.

Rose disappears and as I get up Mr. Swan stops me. He looks at me for a long moment and then nods. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, sir."

He turns back to the game, a smile on his face.

* * *

This girl is seriously trying to kill me.

She's wearing something that might technically qualify as a bikini but looks like I could tear it apart with my bare hands. She floats on a raft, her hand anchoring her to the side of the pool where I'm sitting.

Emmett and Rose watch us like they're waiting for something to happen. Em keeps smiling at me. I get the feeling that he's been forced to hang out with the two of them all summer and probably doesn't mind having another guy around.

Bella fills me in on what she's been doing for the last year, and even though she acts like it's a recap, it's not. Rose really didn't tell me shit, maybe because Bella asked her not to... I don't know. I listen carefully to every word she says.

Either way, I didn't know she completed her internship at the law firm but decided not to continue. I didn't know she's not sure what she wants to do after college anymore. I didn't know she took a life drawing class last semester.

"I was bad. Like, so bad it wasn't even funny."

Rose chimes in. "I disagree. It was actually _really_ fucking funny. That one with the guy bent over..." she throws her head back and laughs. "His balls... oh my god it was amazing."

"You suck." Bella rolls her eyes.

"You swallow," Rose fires back, still giggling.

"That's true," I say automatically.

I freeze, and the three of them stare at me with their jaws dropped. Bella cracks up and the tension breaks. She kicks water at me and calls me a prick.

I fucking missed this shit.

We talk about nothing and laugh a lot. Emmett and Rose sit on the diving board and whisper to each other.

I stare at the curve in Bella's waist and the angle of her hip, thin material knotted there, low. I could reach out and untie it right now. Her muscles tense under my gaze and she runs her fingertips over the back of my hand before letting herself drift away from the side of the pool, almost like touching me was an accident.

I jump in, mostly to hide what she's doing to me. She's smiling all smug and shit, so I flip her off of her raft. She stands up, pushing her wet hair out of her face.

"You asshole!"

Lunging forward, she tries to push me under with both of her hands braced on my shoulders. I would be laughing harder if her tits weren't in my face.

Her skin is slippery with sunscreen and when she loses her grip she slides down my body. Her inner thigh presses against my dick and she stops there for a second with her legs partially wrapped around me. She looks up, her mouth open a little at what she feels, pressing firmly and deliberately into it before pushing off of me. She kicks her feet, splashing water in my face.

"This is so National Geographic," Rose says from the other side of the pool. Emmett laughs. "The mating rituals of middle-class North American Caucasians." She says it in a bad British accent.

Bella adjusts her top and Rose speaks into an imaginary microphone, ignoring Mrs. Swan as she slides the back door open and waters her flowerpots on the deck.

"The female specimen displays her plumage, hoping to entice the male with her bright colors and prominent assets."

Rose's accent starts to turn Australian.

Bella struggles to get back on her raft, her cheeks pink. "You're such a bitch."

"Language, Bella," her mom says. We try not to let her hear that we're laughing.

Rose continues in a loud voice, turning to me. "The male plays hard to get, but it's clear that he's interested, evidenced by the drool on his face and his _massive erection_."

"Rose!" Mrs. Swan opens the sliding door again and closes it behind her, shaking her head. Rose laughs, jumping into the water and dragging Emmett with her.

Bella laughs, lying on her stomach on the raft with her face buried in her arms. .

I flip her off of the raft again. We repeat the last dance but this time I run my hands down her back and don't let go when she starts to pull away.

"Massive might have been overselling it a little," she whispers.

I just smile, smug.

She pushes away, but keeps her eyes on me.

"Want to come over for dinner tonight?"

She pretends to have to think about it. "I don't know. Are you cooking? Because remember that time you tried to make-"

"We can get take-out."

She agrees and I'm fucking happier than I have been in a long time, but as I'm leaving her parents' house I start thinking about whether or not we can just do this. Without hashing all our shit out and talking, I wonder if we can just pick up and start again. I hope we can actually fix this.

* * *

It takes her too long to knock, but I know she's standing in front of my door because I buzzed her in the front a few minutes ago.

When she does it's quiet, like she's not sure.

I try not to think too hard about that.

"Hi."

She smiles.

"Hi."

I step aside so she can come in. She looks around, glancing over her shoulder at me. "It's really cute."

I can tell she means it. She pulls her purse off her shoulder and after a second of hesitation, tosses it on my bed. One of my paintings is hanging on the wall, and she walks over to look at it, chewing on her thumbnail.

"This is great. Reminds of the caves."

"Yeah." I could tell her more but I'm not sure we're ready for that yet. I pull two beers out of the fridge and open both of them. She takes it without looking at me and brings it to her lips.

The ceiling fan spins, and I've got a fan in the window, but it's still hot as fuck in here. Bella takes off her cardigan and tosses it next to her purse.

"So…" she looks around.

I didn't really think about where we would sit. It's either my bed or the stool in front of my drafting table.

"Do you want to go up to the roof?"

The view isn't as impressive as Esme's and it's not as big, but there will be a breeze, at least.

She follows me upstairs and I give her the good chair. Well, they're both shitty but at least there's one for each of us. I watch her turn her face toward the fading sun.

"This is perfect," she says.

I want to touch her skin.

"We have to talk about it, don't we?" she asks, her eyes closed.

"Yeah," I answer honestly.

"Why did you shut me out?" It's blunt and I cringe, but it's not an unfair question.

"I was scared."

She watches the sky for a minute before she turns to look at me. Her eyes are clear, her lashes long.

"I was scared, too. That's not a reason, though."

"I didn't think I was good enough for you." The words spill true and cancel out everything before them.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She laughs in disbelief, but she softens when she sees how serious I am.

She stares at me. Her jaw sets.

"I never meant to make you feel that way."

"Nothing could have changed it. I hung on to that shit since junior high...since my mom left." I hate talking about this, but there's no judgment on her face. "I needed to figure my own problems out before I could be any good for you... or anyone."

She nods.

"I thought you wanted me to be like those guys at those law firm banquets and shit. Wearing a suit and talking about how my stocks are doing."

At that, she drops her gaze to exclude me and it reminds me that I've said this to her once, just with a raised voice and harsher words, my fist slammed into the wall next to her. I wish I could forget that day. I give her a minute.

"In some ways that's true. I mean, you look hot in a suit." She slides her eyes to mine so I know she's joking.

Both of us smile, but she sobers quickly. "But no, really, I put all this stuff onto our relationship, like we were going to suddenly fall into this mold that I had in my head. How unfair is that?" She shrugs. "I mean, I could have had that. It was all laid out with Jasper. I guess I don't know how I lost sight of what I wanted."

I think about my perception of what she wants.

"What was this Alec dude like?" I think I already know, or I've made assumptions, at least.

She laughs, shaking her head. I can tell she feels bad about breaking it off with him. "Rose called him 'B-squad Edward'."

"What?"

"He was into hip-hop and wore wife beaters."

I just stare at her. She glances down at my torso and back up, raising her eyebrows. I'm wearing a wife beater.

"Is it any consolation that he didn't look half as good as you do in them?" She smiles hopefully, apologetically. There's no seriousness to it. Clearly she's not heartbroken over him.

"Whatever," I say, but I can't help grinning.

"So... who did _you_ date?" Her thumb picks at the label on her beer.

"Mostly brunette cheerleaders."

It takes her a second to catch the joke, but when she does she bumps my shoulder with hers and blushes. "Asshole."

We laugh. "No one, really. I'm always painting or with the kids at the Center."

She's quiet for a long time. "You seem different. Happy."

I shrug. "I guess I am." She's right, though. "I figured out that the only person making my life hard was me."

That's some simple-ass shit, but it took me a long time to get there.

"That's very mature of you, Edward."

She's teasing me a little, but I don't mind that. Sometimes when I think back on how things were with us all I can remember is how fucking serious it was. Maybe we made it that way, or were thrown into heavy shit too young, but it doesn't really have to be like that. I'm gonna embrace this right now, because it feels good and right.

"God, it's hot," she says, tying her hair up with a band that was around her wrist. She glances at me. "Are you looking at my tits?"

"No," I answer. But I totally fucking was. I smirk and she rolls her eyes.

We're sitting close. I stare at her and when she meets my eyes we get that intensity that I'm used to, but it doesn't feel awkward.

"If we were smart, we would be friends and just see what happens," she says.

Something's pulling me toward her, though, like I may not be able to stop it even if I want to.

"But I don't want to be smart," she says, her lips barely moving, her voice almost lost to the sound of traffic from the street below.

I ask the stupidest fucking question.

"Can I kiss you?"

I don't know if I've ever asked anyone that before. I need her permission here, though, because we both know I'm going to do more than kiss her if she'll let me. I knew that the second I saw her sitting in the coffee shop last night.

She nods, and I stare at her for a few seconds longer before I lean in and press my lips to hers. She smells like sun and coconut and tastes just the same. It's slow and I help her turn in her chair so her knees are between mine. The kiss gets closer, harder, and her palms push my chest backward and without breaking the kiss she straddles my lap. I pull her weight against me and she bites my bottom lip.

This feels better than anything-better than any fucking drug I've ever taken-better than hitting a train and watching it roll by the next morning.

"I forgot how..."

"I know."

The sun goes down and the air gets cool. She gets goosebumps and I back up.

"Want to go inside?" I ask. I'm asking her more than that.

She gets up and grabs my hand.

"I'm ready."

* * *

The apartment cooled off, at least. She uses the bathroom and I sit on the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees, staring at my hands. I have a second to think and now I'm fucking nervous.

I imagine the aftermath and can't picture it this time.

When she comes out I look up but don't move.

She walks over and sits next to me on my bed.

"What's up?"

I try to put it into words. "We're good at this part."

She reads the silence after that sentence.

"Like, _really_, _fucking_ good." I'm fighting with my body, here. The ache comes out in my words.

"But after..." she starts.

I nod.

We're quiet, and the city is, too.

"Maybe..." she pulls one leg up on the bed and turns to face me. "Not everything has to be so... final. We could date. Like, we could go on an actual _real _date. We could talk on the phone. We could flirt and fuck and fight..."

She pauses and I try not to focus on the word 'fuck', but my body's already there.

"...and sometimes when we fight we could let it go. We could laugh. We could try to be good for each other."

I close my eyes again and now I can see it the way she describes it. It's almost... normal.

"I miss you, even the parts that were angry and distant." She pauses to smile sadly, and I want to cry. "I want that, though. I want all of it."

Her hand makes its way to my shoulder, then the back of my neck. Her thumb rubs circles on my skin and I think about how similar my thoughts are about her.

She presses her lips against my shoulder and I sway, taking a deep breath.

I can feel her eyes on me.

"If I could show you the way you show me..."

She's thinking about the mural behind the record store, maybe a train car, maybe a thousand places I wrote her name.

She kisses my shoulder again and I watch, her eyes looking up at me. Her mouth meets mine and I pull her up onto my lap, falling backwards onto the bed. Laughing, she straddles my thighs but stays raised up on her knees, looking down at me. We both stop smiling. Her eyes close for a second when I run my hands up the outside of her thighs and just under the hem of her tank top.

"Show me," I say.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! **

**I'm writing up a storm but I'm getting married in a few weeks ::fist pump:: so things are a little nuts. Hee. Little nuts.**

**Anyway, I'll be back soon, lovers! You complete me. :)**


	23. Epilogue Part 1

**I don't have anything to say here except thank you to everyone who has read and shared this story. There will be a second epilogue. BPOV. Bringing it full circle. **

**ShearEnvy, bashfulfan and roglows are wonderful. **

**Disclaimer: not mine**

* * *

We weren't perfect. We weren't even close. Some people would say we made a mess of it. There was love, though. More than we knew.

Maybe more than we thought we deserved.

I used to have a different idea of permanence. I thought what mattered was my name, the words I wrote and where I wrote them, but paint will fade and peel and someday no one will remember us. Someday we won't even be a memory.

All that matters is that it happened.

Once, this was everything.

Once, we were here.

* * *

No one's at the bench yet. I can see the sky lightening on the horizon, across the city and past the strip of green where the houses spread out.

I'm not surprised I'm alone. No one's hitting trains since the cops cracked down and a bunch of kids got busted. No doubt the bench will be the spot again someday, though. The next crop of writers will come up and won't give a fuck. They'll be invincible, just like we were.

At twenty-five, I'm a veteran. There are kids now that think of me mythically. I've heard them at the art center saying my name, some of the stories fucking ridiculous but some surprisingly accurate after all this time. You can still find my old pieces in the ghost yard and in small spots around the city if you know where to look. I own my name and I own my past, but I don't offer up details unless pressed.

I'm really proud of the murals, though. I've done more than I can count and through that have mentored hundreds of kids, some with success and some without. The board promoted me to director last year. Bella convinced me to take the position, even though it's more work and not much more pay.

The first train of the day rolls by and I follow it with my eyes; there are dull spots where they washed the cars, color still visible in some areas. Sitting here with my hoodie pulled up and baseball cap on, it could be five years ago...ten years ago, easy. Sometimes I still feel like that kid. A lot has changed, though.

People say that marriage doesn't mean anything, that it's just a piece of paper. It wasn't like that for me, though. I needed to say those words and to hear my girl say them back. I needed to slide that ring on her finger and know that no matter what, wherever she is, I'm there with her. It was, by far, the best fucking day of my life.

I spin the titanium band with my thumb. I picked out Bella's ring and she picked out mine, which had to be able to withstand the wear and tear of my job . I know no matter how much paint is layered on top of it, underneath that band is intact. I can scrub it clean. That's some metaphorical shit right there.

Jake's voice announces his presence, as usual. He's talking shit to Sam and Paul as Jared trails behind him with Leah. With all of our schedules and obligations, this was the only time we could get together. We had a barbecue last weekend but Billy's was packed and we hardly had a chance to really say goodbye.

When Sam, Jared and Leah move out West, it will feel like the end of an era- even more than when we stopped writing or when people started pairing off and growing up. Underneath everything I'm happy they're getting out of the neighborhood, though. Too many people get stuck where we grew up, working shit jobs and drinking at the same bars their parents did.

Jake walks up and we hug, pounding each other's backs. He's settled back into a rhythm, the hard edge he got from his time inside has mellowed. He laughs with his whole body again.

"These fuckers are leaving me," he says, wiping away a fake tear. I know it's not all bullshit, though. He steps forward and looks at the view.

Sam throws his arm around my shoulders and squeezes my neck. "Hey, brother." There's sadness behind his smile. I'm sure mine looks the same.

I hug Paul, then Jared, and we sprawl on the benches, watching the sun come up and reminiscing about the years we spent out here watching the city wake up. We talk about the best pieces and the worst days. Sam and I talk about the night Jake got picked up and his face goes serious, but it's not like it was before. We're past it. They bring up parties I forgot about and people we haven't seen in years. We laugh and talk over each other and when we all go quiet at the same time I know we're all thinking about how we'll miss this.

Rachel shows up with a joint, passing it around. Bella and Rose get there and even though there's space next to me I pull Bella down onto my lap, her arm around my neck. She hands me my black coffee from the coffee shop with a smile.

"What time did you leave?"

I left her a note rather than waking her up this morning. I'd been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. I haven't been looking forward to this day and she knows that.

"Five."

With her lips close to my ear she murmurs. "Last night was fun. I missed you this morning."

The suggestion in her voice is enough to get me hard again. She grins and maybe she's saying it just to distract me or make me feel better but it doesn't matter. It works. I kiss her pretty mouth and push her hair back to whisper things in her ear that I hope no one hears.

Sam hands her the joint and she takes a hit, holding it in before exhaling. She slides off my lap and passes it to me carefully. We watch the city and listen to everyone's conversations. Rose reenacts the time that Jake got his dick caught in his zipper and we laugh until we cry.

Rachel and Leah sit close together. Leah's eyes are red, and not from the weed. I know she and Jared are really happy, but she and Rachel have been inseparable practically since birth. Rose sits across both of their laps and the three of them hug, joking at first. As the seconds pass it turns into a goodbye and I have to look away. Bella's hand slides to my wrist, at my pulse point. She takes a deep breath and we watch a train go by in the distance, both of us following it until it's out of sight.

Jacob stands, hoodie pulled up and hands shoved in the front pockets.

"It's crazy, out here talking about the good old days...everyone getting married and moving on and shit." He looks down, kicking at the grass. "We were just kids, man."

He keeps his head down.

"I'm gonna miss this shit. All of us together."

It's the part none of us want to start, but as the sun gets higher in the sky we all know it's coming. They're leaving from here. Leah's car is packed and ready to go.

There are more than a few tears shed, but not one of us talks shit. We see them off, standing by the cars. Rachel and Leah hold hands through the open passenger window until Jared starts to pull away. Jake puts his arm around Rachel as we start walking, dipping his head to talk to her.

We go to Carlisle and Esme's for breakfast. Being here takes the sting off the morning, watching Rose carefully and proudly crack eggs into a bowl. Esme pauses between flipping pancakes to hug each of us.

I listen to Bella and my aunt make plans for the next weekend, my finger hooked in Bella's belt loop. My hand comes to rest on her thigh, sliding higher. She turns and gives me a look, smiling and shaking her head at Esme as they keep talking. That part hasn't changed. I still want her all the time, maybe more now.

Bella and I are happy. Not annoyingly happy. Not for show. Just the kind of happy that leaves me feeling stable. Things can go wrong, sometimes really fucking wrong, but I can handle it because I know we're solid.

For the first time in my life I'm at peace with the past.

* * *

She rolls her hips slowly and I sigh further into her. She's so tight and wet and sometimes I like to say that shit but we don't always need dirty words. The best times are just us, skin on skin on smooth white sheets. We keep our eyes on each other and she lets her weight settle on me, switching up her movement to shift her hips forward and back. I exhale heavily and she pushes back a little harder, watching my reaction.

I try to use my fingers and she shakes her head, whispering. "I'll come too fast." That makes me harder and I grab her hips, pushing up and trying to get deeper. She smiles and I know she did it on purpose. If we weren't fucking and she wasn't my wife she'd be the biggest tease I've ever met.

She slides up slowly, tightly, before she climbs off of me and onto her hands and knees.

Even though I try to, she does most of the work and when I stop moving altogether she starts to make noises that let me know this is how we're going to come. Grabbing my hand she moves it to where she wants and I hardly have to do anything, letting her slip against my fingers.

The ancient buzzer at the front door sounds and before I can react she grips my wrist so I don't move. "Fuck it," she breathes, still riding my dick. She tightens and the way she's moving gets me harder. I'm close but she comes just in time and I pull her hips back to meet mine as I bust into her with a moan.

When I release her hips, she rolls onto her back, dropping her head to the side to smile at me. I grab her right tit and she laughs when I jiggle it.

It's not until the buzzer sounds again that I remember there's someone at the door. She turns as I get up, rolling onto her stomach. "Let's be naked all day," she says, watching me walk away.

I laugh, walking into the front hallway and pressing the button to speak. I'm sure no one is looking through our second-story windows but as an afterthought I palm my junk.

"Hello?"

The intercom crackles but the voice is unmistakable. My heart stops in my chest.

"Edward? It's...Elizabeth. It's your mother."

She looks the same. Her hair is longer and the auburn is touched by grey but her eyes are still the bright green that looks almost unnatural in the right light. Her face falls when I introduce Bella as my wife, her eyes going to our ring fingers. Her congratulation is sincere but there's an ache in the words. We didn't invite her. I honestly didn't feel bad about it until now.

We sit down at the kitchen table with cups of coffee and Bella openly stares at her like she's on the verge of asking a thousand questions, like she's just waiting for my mom to look at her. Her green eyes are trained on me, though. I forget how much we look alike. It's a face I've drawn more times than I can count but I have trouble looking at it now. Bella grabs my hand under the table.

"This is a really nice apartment," my mom offers. I nod, but don't meet her eyes. Our communications have been minimal since I was released. A few letters here and there. A postcard from a vacation she took to Hawaii. For the first time in a long time I feel like shutting down. It would be easy to find comfort in silence and averted eyes.

There are things I forgot about. The lotion she uses still smells the same and her skin is still translucent, perfect without makeup. Her hair is twisted up in a loose bun and she's thinner than before, but she looks good.

"What are you doing here?" I'm not unkind, but she flinches.

It takes her a long time to respond. I forgot she does that and hate that it reminds me of myself. "I don't know if I can answer that without sounding like I think I deserve your forgiveness."

Bella's fingers squeeze mine.

"I did a horrible thing, leaving you like that. Not a minute of any day goes by where I don't think about it...about you."

The adult in me wants to tell her to fuck off and the kid in me wants to get up and walk out the front door without another word. I reach for something less dramatic.

"You want me to forgive you," I say. It's not a question.

"I want to be a part of your life."

I laugh once and know it comes out sarcastic, but can't stop it. My leg starts to bounce and I look out the window, trying to control my temper. I rub the back of my neck and take a deep breath.

"Edward," Bella says, her voice low. I nod, letting her know that I'm okay.

When I look back at my mom her eyes are on my chest. Without thinking I reach up, tucking the dog tags into my wifebeater and concealing them, like they aren't hers to see now. I flash back to them sitting on my nightstand, the rest of the house empty. It's been a long time since I thought about that day.

"I was only fourteen." As I say it out loud, anger kicks up in my gut. "Who packs up all their shit and leaves their kid like that?"

Her gaze slides to the table and Bella holds her breath.

"Your father-"

"_Don't_." It comes out sharper than I had intended, my voice echoing over the hardwood. Over the years I've come to some realizations about my dad, but I'm not giving her that. She doesn't get to hold herself up next to him now. "Do _not _blame him."

It's a minute before she tries again, a tremor in her voice that she can't conceal. "I didn't mean for you to think I was blaming him. I'm not. But your father and I had a complicated relationship and after he died I had a lot of guilt and a lot of anger. In fact, I spent a lot of my life being angry at people around me for things I could have helped. I spent a lot of time running away, searching for something to fix what's wrong with me. I've tried everything. Booze, drugs...men...religion. Esme told me not to come back, but I wanted to see you."

My heart constricts in my chest and when Bella squeezes my hand again I pull it away. I hope none of what I'm feeling shows on my face.

"And you think this will fix it...coming here."

I watch her swallow hard, trying to keep in the emotion that is bleeding through in the shake of her fingers and the wetness in her eyes. "I hoped," she whispers.

I look at Bella, lost. She gives me a half smile and nods, understanding. I'm halfway to the door when my mom speaks again. I stop and wait, but don't turn back.

"I'm so sorry, Edward. I just want you to know that I love you."

I don't slam the door and I don't yell. A neighbor passes me on the stairs and I manage to smile and say hello, but before I get in my car I try to put my fist through the brick wall of our building.

* * *

"What happened?"

Esme searches my face, calling for Carlisle to grab the first aid kid when she sees my hand. He brings it into the kitchen and leaves just as quickly, seeing that I need to talk to my aunt alone.

We stare at each other as she waits for me to explain. "My mom's here."

Her face goes from shock to realization. Then acceptance. "Let me clean you up before we talk."

I can wiggle my fingers and my hand doesn't feel broken. The ache there matches the ache in my chest, though. I guess that was the point.

When she's done, she sits back and looks me over.

"You told her not to come back?"

She swears under her breath, bringing her hands up to press in two spots on her forehead. For a second she closes her eyes and I watch her chest rise and fall as she calms herself.

She gets up and gets two beers out of the fridge, popping the tops off and setting one in front of me. Neither of us acknowledge the fact that it's only ten a.m. She starts talking like she's already in the middle of a story.

"So I went to see Elizabeth before I drove here from Berkeley." She takes a deep breath. "She was living with some guy...but when I showed up, she cried. She was still torn up about your dad. She told me how she left you with an envelope of cash. No note, even." Her eyes tear and she closes them, stilling herself. "You never told me that. You're like your dad in that way. Anyway, I told her she was welcome any time, but when I got to Billy's and saw you...how lost you were…"

She takes a swig of her beer, using the back of that hand to wipe her cheek. I wonder what that day looked like from her perspective. "I called her and told her to stay away. I was afraid she would show up and leave again. And kiddo, I could see in your eyes that you weren't going to be able to handle that."

I pick up my beer and down half of it. It doesn't stop the feeling in my chest from taking over like I was hoping, though. I drop my head, knowing it was right but fucking hating what she's saying.

After a few minutes I sit up and finish my beer. She gets each of us another.

"Are you mad at me?" she asks.

Looking at her and seeing the sincerity and love that she shows for all of us, I'm not sure I could be even if I wanted to. "No."

She looks unsure, but she doesn't dwell on it. "How is she?"

I shrug. I don't really have much to compare her to anymore. Ten years is a long time. "She looks the same."

"She always was a beauty. Your dad was a handsome man but she's where you got your good looks from, you know."

When I don't respond she knocks my knees with hers.

"You gonna forgive her or what?"

I look up. "Would you?"

"Truth?"

I wait.

"No. But maybe it's worth it to give her a chance." She attempts a smile. "No regrets and all that."

Her fingers tear at the label on the beer bottle.

"You don't trust her, though," I say.

She looks up reluctantly and I know the answer before she says it. "Never did."

She stops me at the door and when I turn around, the look on her face makes me feel fucking awful. "I'm sorry, Edward. I only want what's best for you."

"I know."

When I go to hug her, she crushes me in her thin arms, the incense scent still the same as ever. She scratches my back and I'm a kid again, but in this moment I think it's her that needs reassurance.

"I love you, kid," she says.

"I love you, too," I say, without hesitation.

I leave thinking about the future; about how I want my kids to have what I was missing. I leave thinking about forgiveness and growing up...and how I will never punch another fucking wall again as long as I live. That shit hurts.

* * *

My mom was staying in a shitty hotel. After two weeks I invited her to stay with us. Bella, of course, says she's supportive of whatever I choose.

When I tell Rose, she practically has a fucking aneurysm. She's standing on the porch of her house while Emmett, Bella and I sit. She throws her hands up, dramatically. All three of us raise our eyebrows, waiting for her to erupt.

"You're letting her _stay with you_? Are you fucking kidding me? I can't believe we're even having this conversation. I can't believe you even agreed to speak to her. She abandoned you when you were what...thirteen?"

"Fourteen," Bella corrects her. Rose rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Do you remember that day? Because I do. You're just gonna let that bitch back into our lives like it's nothing?"

The fact that she says "our lives" doesn't escape me. Sometimes I forget that loss wasn't just my own. Rose suffered right along with me.

Emmett reaches his hand out, waiting until she takes it. He pulls her onto his lap.

"Calm down, babe," he says. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Just like Esme. It makes me smile.

"I just don't understand, Edward."

I try to find a way to put it into words, my desire to fix things now, to let go of all the anger and shit I've carried around my whole life. "It's the right thing to do. I need to move on." After a second I clarify. "_We_ need to move on."

Rose looks away but I can tell she's absorbing that.

"Step nine," she says after a minute. Bella sighs heavily and I realize Rose is talking about her twelve steps.

That step was the toughest for all of us, with the confessions and apologies and all the fucked up stuff it dredged up. By now we've gone through a few rounds with her. Her last relapse was a year and a half ago and it was so bad we weren't sure she and Emmett would survive it. Like with everything, Rose doesn't slip slowly. That's never been her style. She dives headlong into the shit. But now, sitting with her arm around Emmett's neck, I can't imagine them apart.

"Step nine is the worst," Emmett says.

"The fucking_ worst_." Rose talks over him, but he just smiles at her.

She and Emmett stare at each other, silent understanding between them. Finally she sighs, conceding.

"Fine. Forgiveness. Whatever." She shrugs but her expression lightens, like now that she made the decision she can let go of the weight, too. When she looks down at my hand I know what's coming. "I know it must have been traumatic to see her again but I thought you were working on healthy expressions of anger."

She's right. I've also been working on having a sense of humor about myself. "I have a lot of feelings," I say, straight faced.

Emmett and Bella laugh. Rose rolls her eyes but I can see a smirk twitching her lips.

A month goes by fast. We spend time with our friends and family and include my mom in our plans as much as we can. She and Esme keep their distance but I don't let it bother me.

My mom starts talking about jobs and apartments and it's then that I realize she's not just visiting. She finally tells me about her last boyfriend, how he drained her savings and left. I lend her cash to get on her feet and it's the first real fight Bella and I have as a married couple.

Luckily, my mom isn't home that night. We're both propped up on pillows in bed. She's reading and I'm sketching. I casually tell her about the loan.

"Two thousand dollars?" she says.

She sits up, putting distance between us on the bed as she looks at me, incredulous. Her hair is in a knot on top of her head and she's wearing the glasses she put off getting until this year. I didn't know how much I liked girls in glasses until now.

"She needs help, Bella."

Bella looks at me for a long moment before she stands, walking stiffly out of the room. I rub my hands over my face and groan. This isn't going to be good.

I stand in the doorway to the bedroom, watching her as she gets a glass out and fills it with water. She's wearing a tank top and sleep shorts. I don't want to be fighting. I want to be sliding that tank top up and off of her body.

"I'm sorry," I say.

She turns to face me. "I would _never_ spend that kind of money without talking to you."

My jaw sets and she puts down the glass of water.

"You can't understand. You didn't grow up like I did. Money meant something different to you than it did to us."

She shakes her head. "That is so incredibly unfair."

She's right.

"I know that we grew up differently and I don't understand how it was for you and your mom. But this isn't about that. It's about you and me."

"Are you angry because of the money or because of how I spent it?"

She holds my gaze. "I don't care about the money."

"But you think I shouldn't have given it to her?"

She hesitates, but not because she's trying to find the words. I can tell they're on the tip of her tongue. "I think she's taking advantage of your kindness."

I sit on the couch. Suddenly this doesn't feel like a fight. It feels like a conversation she's been waiting to have.

"I'm not trying to say she's not here because she loves you, but she's looking at you like you're her life raft. Like you can fix her."

"Maybe I can." Even as I say it I know it's coming from a long-lost, innocent part of me that should know better.

Bella doesn't disagree. She walks over and sits next to me, her body turned so she can look at me.

"I don't want you to get hurt again."

I shrug like it doesn't matter... like my mom couldn't hurt me even if she wanted to. It's a fucking lie, though, and both Bella and I know that.

"You are _such_ a good person. After everything, for you to forgive her...I don't think you realize how big that is."

I don't move. There's a "but" in there somewhere.

"But just showing up here and apologizing...I mean she's been living here for a month. She hasn't even really looked for a job."

I run my hands through my hair.

"What am I supposed to do? Just kick her out?"

"Of course not."

We're quiet. I listen to her even breaths. She slides her cold feet under my thigh and I let her.

I don't know where to go from here. We're not at an impasse. We don't disagree. I realize that this is up to me. She's going to support me no matter what, so I need to make the right choice for us. Because she's my family now.

"The reason I want to talk about all of this now is...I'm pregnant."

I laugh. "Yeah, right." When she doesn't say anything I turn and look at her. "Shut up."

She's not laughing but she's amused. "I'm going to put that in the baby book. That when I told you, your response was 'Yeah, right. Shut up.'"

We stare at each other. Her smile falls.

"Wait...are you serious?"

She nods. She crosses her legs so I can see her stomach. It's still looks the same, flat and toned, but when I put my hand there my eyes start to water. There are things I want to say to her. To tell her how happy I am and how lucky and scared and fucking in love I am with this kid already. I can't get a word out, though.

I tell her with my lips pressed against hers, my hands pulling her closer, onto my lap so our bodies are flush. I tell her with the tears on my cheeks. She doesn't cry. She runs her fingers through my hair and whispers sweet words.

It's the new best fucking day of my life.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. xo**


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